Page 85 of Graves

“Eighteen. Three months after her death was ruled a suicide. I moved in with my biological father right after. Selene—my stepmother—gave me a lot of support. But I knew it was Jerry. He strangled her and staged it to look like a hanging.”

I stare blankly at the white sheet and shrug. “The man had two faces. After I killed him, something inside me broke. While my father made it look like a suicide and went back to business as usual, I lost my footing. Selene got me into therapy and I was grateful, but eventually I stopped going. What was I supposed to tell the therapist? That I murdered my abusive stepfather?” I let out a shaky breath. “Only when Levi asked if I had a problem with him did I notice how much I’d pulled away from my family. By then, I needed distance. I couldn’t join the family business. I wanted my own path. That’s when I met Luke.”

“Sounds like he caught you at the perfect moment.”

“We were in the same program but barely spoke for the first two years. We started dating right before graduation. At first, everything was good.” The second the words leave my mouth, it hits me that I’m doing it again—defending Luke because I’m weak. Then and probably still now.

“I needed him,” I admit, trying to view those three years with cold distance. It’s not easy. “He was my anchor. On the outside, I looked like I had my shit together. I’d finished my degree and wanted to open my own practice. But inside… something was broken. Something that scared even me.” I inhale, then let it out slowly.

“Only after I left him did I realize I’d never really trusted him,” I continue. “He knew nothing about me. Okay, I was in self-destruct mode, but no matter how much he manipulated me, I kept that other side of me locked away deep inside. I didn’t want him to see it. Looking back, that was the last piece of myself I managed to protect—the part of me that strangled a man for revenge. And now here I am, telling you everything like you’ve put some spell on me too. I can’t believe it,” I finish with a sigh.

“Thank you for telling me,” Aran says sincerely. “Makes me feel less like the only freak in the room.”

I let out a sad chuckle and rub my eyes.

“Come here.” Aran lies back down and drapes the sheet over his hips. “Come to me.”

I’d forgotten how much I need a man’s closeness until I lie down beside him and curl into his side.

He covers me with the sheet and slips one leg over mine. His warmth wraps around me in a way so gentle and loving that I never thought possible. In the short time I’ve spent with Aran, I’ve already been shown countless times what Luke denied me.

“You don’t have to be afraid,” he promises. “I won’t tell anyone. I’d never let them put you in prison. Never. You belong out here.”

He strokes the back of my head and runs his hand over my shoulder. I feel the warmth of his palm and that familiar tightness in my chest—the pull that once made me reach for a razor blade.

My old scars burn under his touch, reminding me of all the times I had to regain control because there was no other way.

I swallow hard and bite my tongue. I’d love to talk to Aran about it, but I can’t. When my hand instinctively moves to my upper arm—the tell that everyone who knows me recognizes—Aran gently brushes his fingers across my forehead.

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. But you don’t have to carry everything alone either.”

His touch is so tender and loving that all the tension melts from my muscles. I throw my arms around him, burying my face in his chest, and feel nothing but relief at being held.

Aran is nothing like Luke.

Maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe it isn’t.

But right now, it feels perfect—and I fall asleep in his arms.

17

—

Aran

I can barely breathe as I brace both hands on the sink and stare into the mirror. It’s so obvious. The dark circles under my eyes look worse every single day. Neither my charm nor a forced smile is enough to disguise my wrecked state.

The whole situation is already eating at me—the five gigs we’re forced to play, the media hate, the paparazzi hunting me like an animal since I got out. And Koh taking up more and more space in my head isn’t making any of it easier.

What can I say? I like the guy.

Maybe more than I want to admit.

His presence does something good to me. He’s like a magic charm that dissolves all my headaches and tension and makes me feel like a normal person—maybe even a lovable one.

I have no idea how he does it.

Unfortunately, his magic only works when he’s close.