It was easy to remember. The memory was all too fresh in my mind. “I’d just turned sixteen. I stepped on his new Nikes accidentally.”
Jase looked away. A muscle ticked along his jaw. Nearly ten months passed between the first time Jeremy hit me and the last time. Ten months of keeping it secret, of hiding the bruises, and of wondering what I had been doing to deserve it.
Ten months I never, ever wanted to relive.
“Even at sixteen, you were young. You’re still young,” he said finally, his voice even, but tight. “I can’t even imagine what you were going through, but you were just a kid, Tess. You weren’t stupid. You were scared.”
The knot came out of nowhere, filling my throat. My voice was hoarse when I spoke. “I thought it was my fault.”
“It wasn’t your fault.” His eyes flashed an intense silver. “Please tell me you know it was not your fault.”
“I do now.” Blinking rapidly, I cleared my throat. “What he did wasn’t my fault, but my silence really didn’t help my case.”
“Tess—”
“I get what you’re saying, but I should’ve told someone. You can’t argue that. Silence is not a fucking virtue. It’s a disease—a cancer that eats away at you and fucks with your head. I know that now. Not then and . . .” I trailed off, shaking my head as I drew in a stunted breath. I thought of Debbie in that moment. “And, well, things are different now.”
“They are, but you weren’t stupid and it wasn’t your fault then. And because I say so, that’s the way it is. End of discussion.”
I arched a brow. “End of discussion?”
He nodded as his lips curled up on one corner. “Yep. What I say goes.”
“Yeah. Sure.”
The grin grew as he tugged gently on my arm. His eyes lightened to a soft gray. “Do not doubt my authority.”
I laughed and was surprised that I could do so after such a serious and sad conversation. “You have absolutely no authority.”
He smirked. “Oh, my authority is there. All the time. It’s just stealth authority. You don’t even know it’s happening.”
I rolled my eyes, but as the initial burn of the awkward conversation faded, I recognized his words for what they were worth. Even if I had trouble accepting no fault in the mess, I knew that Jase firmly believed in what he said. And that did mean something. Heck, it meant a lot.
“So what did you think about the meet and greet?” he said, and it was like a thick cloud had passed. We were officially back in safe territory. “Wasn’t bad?”
“No.” I smiled up at him. “It wasn’t bad at all.”
“Then next time, maybe you’ll ride one of them? Lightning?”
My stomach tumbled a bit. “Ah . . .”
“I’ll be with you,” he added, dipping his chin. “The whole time.”
I pictured me practically sitting in his lap, his arm around my waist, holding me close, and . . . I felt hot. I needed to throw the brakes on the porn train before my mind veered into triple X land.
He chuckled, the sound deep and sexy, as he moved closer. His sneakers brushed mine, and I had to crane my neck to meet his eyes. “I can tell you like that idea.”
“What?” I scowled, hopefully fiercely and not stupidly. “No. I was thinking about music class tomorrow. Aren’t we covering the baroque period? Stimulating stuff right there. I’m all kinds of excited.”
A smirk formed on his lips. “I don’t think that’s what you are all excited about or what gets you excited.”
“It’s not you.”
“Whatever.” The teasing glint grew in his gaze. “You were thinking about me.”
I snorted. Like a pig. “Yeah, I don’t think so. I don’t think about you at all.”
“You’re a terrible liar.”
“And you have a terrible ego. Worse than my brother and that’s saying something.”
“You can say whatever you want. I know better.” He dipped his head and his lips grazed my cheek, blazing a small fire across my cheeks. “See? You’re flushing and I haven’t even done anything.”
“It’s the sun,” I replied, straining back before I did something stupid. Like grabbing his face in a death grip and molesting him. “I’m getting a heatstroke.”
He choked out a laugh. “The sun isn’t even out.”
I huffed. “Like that makes a difference.”
“You know what?”
Cocking my head to the side, I waited.
That infuriating grin seemed permanently etched into his face. “It’s cute.”
“What is?” I hoped he wasn’t thinking that about me because I’d like to be seen as more than “cute” when it came to him.
“You.” He caught a piece of my hair in his other hand and tickled the edges along my neck while I fought the urge to stick my tongue out. “This whole act—you pretending that you don’t sit and think about me all the time. You probably sit in your dorm and write my name all over your dry-erase board.”
“Oh my God.” I laughed.