Page 76 of Our Secret to Keep

I’m in my childhood bedroom, curled up on my side. The music from downstairs floats up to the second floor, but I can’t make out the words. I hear people talking, muffled voices, and other strange noises.

Whimpering?

Is someone hurt?

I roll onto my back as my bedroom door opens. A golden glow from the hallway lighting filters into the dark space. Heels tap on the hardwood floor, and I smell vanilla as she moves closer to the bed.

She’s here.

Again.

I don’t like it when she wakes me up. Or when she slips off her heels and gets into bed with me.

“Hey, my sweet boy,” she whispers, her lips hovering above mine.

I’m almost six feet tall and built for my age, but that doesn’t make it okay for her to do this. Just because I look like a man doesn’t mean I am one.

I swallow to clear the lump in my throat, close my eyes, and pretend to sleep.

She doesn’t care.

She never does.

My eyes snap open to darkness. Heart racing a mile a minute, I sit up, clutching my chest.

Fuck.

Scanning the space, I see four different walls. And no sign ofher.

Thank God.

Another dream.

A memory.

Sweat covers every inch of my bare skin. Even naked, I feel like clothes are sticking to me. Grabbing a bath towel from the back of my door, I wipe my face and take a few deep breaths. Then, I dry the rest of my body and slip into a pair of boxer briefs.

River hates it when I get into bed with him naked. And I already know that’s where I’m going.

Tohim.

To the only place I feel safe.

I crack open his door, hear him softly breathing, and enter his room. Until we moved to Kingston University, we shared the same bedroom.

I miss it.

Moonlight creeps in through the open blinds. River sleeps on his side, naked and with his arm draped over his eyes. In this light, I see his dark tattoos perfectly.

Over his heart, there are two crisscrossed hockey sticks with the number twenty-three between them.C'est la vieis written in script over the right side of his chest, a few inches above his nipple.

River’s dad is French Canadian and taught him English and French. The words translate tothat’s life, as in some things you can’t change.

Do the words have anything to do with us?

He got stuck rooming with me at boarding school, and I have made his life miserable ever since. It’s my fault he’s never gone on a date. If he’d never met me, his life would be perfect. Because I am fucked up, River has been denied any chance at normalcy, which only makes me hate myself more.

I’m such a selfish asshole.

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