Page 47 of The Masks We Break

Glancing up, my eyes collide with hers, and for a moment, I wish I could get lost in them. They’ve always been so beautiful to me—the morning sun in my constantly dark world.

I clear my throat and lean against the tall fence. “It’s only ever happened once before. When I was younger.”

Remy tilts her head, tracing her finger along the handlebars of my bike. “Will you tell me about it?”

Her voice is soft, timid, and a small rose color blooms across her cheeks. My childhood isn’t something I talk about, but a sense of guilt weaves through my chest, reminding me that tonight is my fault. I could have prevented the entire thing if I’d taken care of the scum myself.

A tightness pulls across my chest, and I adjust my watch twice before I speak. “My old man is what some may call strict.” Pausing, I close my eyes briefly, thinking of the right words.

Remy huffs, drawing my gaze before nodding her head. “I’ve got one of those.”

“That’s unfortunate.” I can only hope our definitions are far from the same. “He started teaching me to box when I was small, about four. I wasn’t talking quite yet, but instead of working with doctors, he decided to take matters into his own hands. Had me meditate for long periods of time and taught me forms of discipline during our boxing sessions. He wanted me to be strong physically and mentally, but making a kid do those things was bound to start some problems. Luckily, I didn’t have any issues until I was seven. I’d finally started talking, and funny thing, I had a stutter. That made things a little rough for a while. It wasn’t too bad, only brought on by stress…”

I chance a look at Remy.

Her knuckles are white from her grip on the edge of my motorcycle’s seat, and her eyes are glossy. Perhaps I shouldn’t tell her the whole truth, but Iwantto. Maybe if she knows the monster that created me, she’ll see I’m not too far off. Save herself from thinking I can be anything but what he made.

“Anyway, when I was ten, I got extremely frustrated with him. There had been a misunderstanding with something for football, and I lied unintentionally, but I thought I was being honest, so during one of our boxing matches, my anger got the best of me. I’d lost control, yelling and even fighting back when I was only meant to defend.”

I run a finger under my left eye, clenching my jaw.

Remy lets out a gasp, her hands clutching to her chest. “Your heterochromia isn’t hereditary?”

Something between a scoff and laugh falls from my mouth as I shake my head. “No, puppet. It’s not.” While some are born with the condition, mine is caused by trauma, and serves as a daily reminder of just what the devil looks like. I run a hand through my hair, looking toward the small sliver of stars visible from the top of the gate. “But the next day at school, I realized I misunderstood the coach, and had in fact lied.”

Remy takes a few slow steps toward me. Her eyes bounce between mine as if for the first timeshe’sable to readme. I like that she wants to. No one ever has, taking me for the mask I show them, content with not looking deeper. But not Remy, she’s always wanted to touch my fire, even with the knowledge she may end up burned. While I should find the act uncomfortable, something in my sternum expands. A strange notion taking root that I want her to see the things I can’t.

Maybe see the things I don’t understand.

She chews on the inside of her cheek, seeming to finally come up with a conclusion. “That’s why you don’t talk much? Unsure if you’ll make the mistake of lying.”

The second sentence isn’t a question but an observation. And for the most part, she’s right. Even before Iknewthat lying was wrong, it felt as such. It served no purpose in getting what you want, or solving any problem, and in turn, I’d never desired to do it in the first place.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?” I tilt my head, my eyebrows furrowing.

She bites into her perfect bottom lip her eyes full of a sympathy I don’t want.

Don’t deserve.

“That you’ve had to endure that as a kid.”

As a kid.The thought is enough to make my stomach sour, but she doesn’t need to know I’m still tolerating my father’s temper. Still letting him control our dynamic while he can. I can only hope the payoff is worth it. That in the end, it willallhave been worth it.

Shaking my head, I move forward, closing the space. I tilt Remy’s chin up before tucking a stray hair behind her head. “Don’t be sorry, puppet. I—”

I stop, a shiver running through my spine as she pushes her face into my palm. Having to always suppress my urges taps me on the shoulder, a gentle reminder of how long it’s been.

Clearing my throat, I try to push it away and drop my hand, but she gazes up, her low sunflower eyes just visible under a fan of dark lashes. “Thank you for coming for me, Blaze.”

“Don’t thank me. I shouldn’t have let it happen in the first place.” A fresh swell of anger works its way into my veins, reminding me of my fuckup. Whispering that it could happen again while she continues todate.

Date. It’d be so easy to shut that possibility down. To really take her, make her mine, and never have to worry about her safety again. But I’m not a selfish man. I know that I’m not capable of giving her what she wants—that stupid little word she needs so badly. Though looking at her now hooded gaze, the quick rise and fall of her chest, and the viselike grip she has on her lips, I can’t seem to remember what it is I was thinking and crash my mouth onto hers.

TWENTY TWO

Unlike the tipsy haze of our first kiss, this one makes it feel as though a confetti bomb is ringing out in my chest—tingles shooting through my extremities. It’s only when Blaze’s hand tangles in the back of my hair, and the other extends around my side, pulling me closer, that realization sets in. His warm tongue finds the edge of my lips before slipping inside and tangling with mine.

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