Page 173 of Ruin My Life
There’s a lump in my throat that won’t go away. “That’s so fucked up.”
“Yeah,” he breathes out a laugh—bitter and hollow. “That’s how I ended up with the Songbirds. They found me scraping together change, offered me a job I couldn’t afford to turn down. And once I was in... I wasn’t allowed to leave. But you know the rest of that story already.”
I look over at him, his face shadowed by porchlight and nightfall, and wonder what kind of boy grows into a man like this.
Fierce. Broken.
But still soft around the people he loves.
I used to think Damon was just muscle and strategy. A criminal who happened to be more disciplined than the rest.
But I see it now.
He didn’t become dangerous because hewantedto be. He became dangerous because the world gave him no other option.
I set my mug down on the table next to his and lean back into the chair, tugging the sherpa-lined blanket tighter around my shoulders.
“I like learning new things about you,” I say before I can stop myself. The words just fall out, raw and unfiltered.
His smirk curls slowly at the corners. “I’m surprised there’s still things you don’t already know about me.”
I laugh. “Well, unless you spend every waking hour vlogging your life, there are always secrets to unfold in person.”
He watches me quietly for a beat, then tilts his head.
“I like learning things about you too,” he says. “But there’s one thing that’s got me a little stumped.”
“Yeah? What’s that?”
“You mentioned that you, your mom, and your sister used to do weekly spa nights—bubble baths, face masks, scrubs,” he says, his voice dipping lower as he leans closer. “But I don’t think that tub in your room’s been used once. Why not?”
I snort.
“Don’t tell me you have a camera in there too?”
He rolls his eyes. “No. But my room’s next door. I know the difference between the sound of a shower and a filling bathtub.”
“Right.”
I glance back out at the dark water.
“I won’t lie—it was tempting. But... I didn’t want to relax. Didn’t want to let my guard down.”
There’s a pause.
Silence stretches out between us like a third wool blanket, thick enough to mute the sound of the waves.
“Didn’t,” he says suddenly.
“What?”
“You saiddidn’t.” He grins, teeth flashing. “As in, past tense. Which implies now youdo.”
Heat creeps up my neck.
Before I can reply, he’s already rising from his seat, blanket falling behind him.
Then he’s lifting me from mine, like I weigh nothing at all.
