Page 56 of Broken Breath
I don’twantto know what it means.
And I hate how badly I want to ask him.
He pushes open the door on the left, reclaims my wrist, and pulls me inside.
It’s a bright and clean room with a massage table sitting dead center, flanked by white shelves lined with rows of neatly rolled towels. A diffuser puffs lavender mist into the air. Only two other people are inside, both dressed in white. One is an older man with a serious face and a short, graying beard whose attention is fixed on the oils he’s lining up on a metal tray.
“Karl,” Luc says by way of introduction, clapping the guy on the shoulder like they’re old pals. “This isPetitCrews.” He jerks a thumb at me. “He’s taking my spot today. Had a bad crash and wrecked his hip, probably needs a deep session.”
The woman next to Karl scowls. She’s maybe in her early thirties, and her ash-blonde hair is pulled into a high ponytail. I noticed her sharp blue eyes the second they flicked to us when we walked in. “Luc, can youpleasetake the rat back already?”
She holds Toulouse out between us, straight-armed, but now he’s way too close tome,and Ifreeze.
Beady black eyes. Twitching whiskers. That long,nakedtail curling like a question mark in the air between us.
I try not to recoil.
Ireallytry.
But then a full-body shudder rolls down my spine.
“Ew. Get that thing away from me.” The words slip out before I can stop them, but at least I manage to keep my voice deep.
Luc spins on me, looking like I just kicked a puppy.
“He’snota thing,” he snaps, eyes hard. “He’s myson.So, shut up.”
With gentle coaxing and soft French murmurs, he scoops Toulouse back like he’s the most precious thing in the world. The rat immediately scrambles up his arm and sits on his shoulder, looking perfectly smug about the whole ordeal.
Like father, like son.
Luc strokes his little head once, then waves lazily at Karl as if nothing happened.
“Go on,” he says. “Do your thing.”
I balk. “No. God, Luc, I told you I don’t want to.”
He takes a step toward me. “You don’t want to,” he says gently. “But youneedto.”
Taking me by surprise again, he grabs the hem of my hoodie. I move to stop him, but not fast enough. His fingers are already lifting the fabric, exposing my skin.
“See?” Luc says to Karl. “Crashed right on the…”
The bruise is already more widespread than it was an hour ago, but that’s not what stops him mid-sentence because the bruise isn’t the only thing he sees. His eyes are locked on my scars, faint surgical lines, some deep, some small, but they’re all over my hip and lower abdomen.
His gaze traces them slowly, like they’re a map, and the air in the room shifts, becoming tighter, hotter.
Luc crouches down and lifts the hem a little higher to follow the line of a jagged scar that curves up toward my ribcage as his breath brushes my skin, making my heartslamagainst my ribs.
“Merde,” he whispers, seeming too stunned to say anything else.
I snap out of it and swat his hand away, yanking the hoodie down hard. My face is burning, and my lungs ache with the weight of what he just saw, what I nevermeantfor anyone to see. Silence fills the room until…
Hiccup.
Bury me already.
Luc’s eyes snap back to mine, soft and intense, but full of questions I’m not ready to answer.
