“But not for you.”
“I learned to fight because I had to. And every bruise, it only makes me stronger. That’s how I got to be where I am. That’s how I survived.”
I swallow hard, hearing what he’s saying between the lines. Someone hurt him. Someone hit him as a child. “I’m sorry.”
His voice gentles. “You understand about that, don’t you?”
“Yes,” I whisper.
“We’re not so different, you and I.”
“The bruises didn’t make me stronger.”
He shakes his head. “Not stronger with big muscles. With this thick head that no one can bash in, even though so many motherfuckers have tried. You’re strong in ways I can only imagine. Surviving on your own, with your daughter.”
I turn my face away. “Surviving. That’s not strength.”
His rough hand turns my chin toward him again. “Surviving is the only thing that matters. And you are strong as fuck. Understand me, little bird? No matter how many times someone puts a cage around you, you never forget how to fly.”
Both Luca and I were hurt when we were young. He turned hard and coarse. I turned meek. These were our survival strategies, and they stayed with us long after our abusers had gone.
My eyes burn hot with tears. But I don’t want to cry, not now. Not when I feel the stirrings of hope after so long. I’ve always believed in Delilah, that she can have a real future, a better life. But it’s been a long time since I believed in me.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
“Don’t thank me,” he says roughly. “I don’t want your gratitude.”
And he doesn’t want my bandages. “Get used to it.”
His laugh fills the room. “And you aren’t strong. You know how many people talk to me like that? You’re a goddamn army of one.”
My cheeks flush under his praise. And under his intense gaze.
Only now do I realize how close we are. We had to be when I was tending his wounds. Now I’m standing a foot away from him for no reason at all. This close I can see the ring of darker green around the center of his eyes. I can see the scar that bisects his eyebrow, one that looks centuries old, from a different lifetime.
I know that being with Luca won’t be anything like what happened in Harmony Hills.
Is Candy right about that? I want to believe her.
I want to find out for myself.
“Luca,” I whisper.
His lids seem lower now, half-mast across his green eyes. He’s breathing harder, more than when I put rubbing alcohol against his open wounds. “Little bird.”
And I know that he went crazy when you disappeared.
There’s temptation between us. And sin. But there’s something deeper too. It might be trust.
“You told me not to stop fighting you.”
His lips turn up. The air seems to shimmer with challenge. “You gonna punch me? Gonna make me bleed after you patched me up so nice?”
“What if I don’t want to fight anymore?”
Everything seems to still as I hold my breath. Even the earth pauses on its axis, waiting for his reaction. Fearing it. Anticipating it. His voice burns like lava. “You need something from me, little bird?”
“Show me what it would be like. If I hadn’t been scared of you in my apartment. If the elevator yesterday had just gone on and on, never stopping.”