Page 59 of Leave Me Broken

“I am making pasta if you are willing to wait. Judging by the noise I heard come from your stomach, I am not sure you are.” Luca chuckles from the stove. I didn’t even notice he was cooking but now that I smell the garlic, my stomach growls, again.

I glance at the clock on the stove seeing it’s ten p.m. Pasta at ten p.m. is odd, but I’m not going to argue with it. Shutting the fridge, I walk over and take a seat at the barstool across from Luca.

“Pasta sounds amazing. Real pasta, though, right? None of that fake cauliflower or zucchini noodle crap that Ash loves so much?”

Luca scoffs and curses something in Italian. “No, coniglietta, none of that bullshit. My nonna would roll over in her grave.”

I smile. “Good. So, what’s on the menu, chef?”

Thirty-five minutes later, Luca and I are sitting at the kitchen counter with two huge bowls full of an Italian pasta dish I’m not sure how to pronounce but it’s probably the best food I’ve ever eaten. While Luca cooked, he told me about how he grew up not eating food like this. His parents were poor and could barely afford any food to feed a family of five. When he grew up, his first job was at a restaurant and that’s where he learned to cook. He fell in love with it immediately and never looked back. The only reason he didn’t attend culinary school was because his volleyball career kicked off instead.

He polishes off his bowl and his fourth glass of wine. I’m still working on my first bowl but I’m already getting full, so I ask him to put it in the fridge so I can have it as leftovers later.

“Leftovers were not a thing in my household. Too many mouths.”

“I grew up on leftovers,” I say, “Well, leftovers and Hot Pockets.”

“What is a Hot Pocket?”

I explain what it is, trying my best not to laugh at his pure mortification.

“You would cook it from frozen? In the microwave?”

I nod my head.

A string of Italian curses and a head shake later he sighs. “That is disgusting and you should be glad I am in your life now to cook for you.”

“I’m glad.” I grin.

Despite it being so late, Luca grabs all the dishes and begins to wash. When I offered to do it, since he cooked, he cursed me out again. It was in Italian so it could have been something else but it felt like cussing.

It must be the late hour, or the fact I’ve been thinking about it since Luca talked about it, but I can’t stop my curiosity from slipping past my lips. “How can you have sex with no attachments?”

He was already watching me, and his eyes turn thoughtful, then he shrugs. “Women are beautiful. Each in their own way, but fucking one to the next is like riding a bike versus driving a car. Sure, they are different but both get you where you want to go. You understand?”

“But . . . I don’t get how you don’t get wrapped up in it. Ash and I—”

“Ah, that is where you are confused. I am not having sex with my Ashley.”

I scrunch my nose and he laughs. “You really do resemble a baby bunny sometimes, coniglietta.” Ash has told me the same thing. “What I mean is I do not fall for any of the girls I fuck because I have already been in love. Fucking for me is not like what you experience with Ash. I fuck to get off. You two fuck because you are in love. It is just another way for you two to tell each other without words.” He purses his lips. “Or for him to tell you in multiple ways and you in one.”

“He told you about that.” I cringe. “Great.”

“There are no secrets between Ashley and me. We have been through too much.”

Oh, even better. I sigh and run a hand through my hair, moving on from thinking about Ash sharing everything with him. “What do you mean you were in love, though? With who, and where is she now?”

Luca doesn’t answer me right away and judging by his serious face, I’m not sure he wants to. My eyes catch his bare arms in front of me and the many healed scars. I reach a hand across the counter, eyeing him as I do so he can pull away if he wants to. He doesn’t and I glide a single finger over his arm. It’s not rough like mine because his cuts are healed, but it’s not smooth like Ash’s skin either. “Why did you used to . . .?”

Luca frowns while looking at my bare arms next to his before skimming his finger over my scars. I cringe when he hits the fresh cuts.

“Ashley mentioned you were chatty.” He chuckles. “Are you sure this is the conversation you want to talk about? It is not a nice one.”

I can’t believe Ash says I’m chatty. Does he think I talk too much? I shake my head, focusing on Luca, I can bother Ash about that later. “Yes. I’m . . . struggling lately and”—I shrug—“I don’t know, maybe hearing your reason will make mine seem dumb.”

Luca tsks. “Everyone has their reasons for doing what they do. But I will tell you because it will answer both your questions.” Both? The love and cutting are connected, then. I pull away and lean back into my chair, giving him my full attention.

“My family was poor but that was not why I cut. In fact, I never understood how poor we were until I got a job and saw how other people lived. As a kid, I did not pay attention to what my friends had and what I did not because I had my family—my siblings. I was happy with just them. My parents were worried about money, but I never would have guessed that. They were happy, always smiling.

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