“Which by the way…that’s a bit of a weird thing to say,” I prompted.
“It probably is,” he said, and I felt his hand tense in mine, the barest movement as if he was struggling not to pull away. “So you think I’m a liar,” he said, glancing up at me.
Honesty, secrets, pain. It was all there in his eyes. I hadn’t let myself see it before, hadn’t wanted to see it. I’d resisted that, because to see him fully meant recognizing what I’d subconsciously sensed we shared. It meant acknowledging my own pain, demons I’d kept buried for a very long time.
“No, I don’t think that,” I said. “In fact I think honesty is incredibly important to you. I know it is.” Suddenly the pieces were falling into place. Little things, tiny gestures and seemingly benign comments that had been swirling in my mind since we’d met, came together in a portrait of this man that I could have painted myself, in a palette of colors that would match my own.
“How can you say that?” he said. “We hardly know each other.”
I closed my eyes and made a choice. It was time to share a little truth, even if that meant my own shadows got caught in the light.
“You’re wrong,” I said, searching his gaze. “We know each other better than we realize. We’ve just been denying that fact. See, we’ve been playing this game. Having fun, flirting.”
I raised his hand to my lips and kissed it. “We’ve been aiming for a casual fuck-buddy vibe,” I said. I bit his thumb gently, then sucked it into my mouth, swirling my tongue over the tip and down the length as if it weren’t just a finger, but another part of his body.
“Friends with benefits? Is that what they call it?” he said, pulling his thumb from my mouth, he smeared it over my lips, wetting them, his eyes fixated on the movement.
“Yes,” I nodded. “But casual doesn’t seem to be working for us.”
“No?” he asked. He licked his lips and traced his thumb in circles over the corner of my mouth.
“No. And I think I know why.” My fingers danced under the edge of his shirt sleeve and feathered over his wrist. His arm jerked as if he’d been shocked, but he didn’t pull away.
“I know why, because we recognized something in each other from the moment we met.” I unfastened the cuff of his sleeve, releasing one, then two buttons, holding my breath as I did so, waiting for him to stop me. He didn’t, he simply watched, his eyes locked to the movements of my fingers as I gently pushed the fabric up over the muscle of his forearm.
“We—” he began.
“I see you, just like you see me.”
“What do you see?” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the roar of blood pulsing in my head.
“You’re a little bit broken,” I said, capturing his hand in mine. “And so am I.” His eyes found mine as my lips met his wrist, and I held his gaze fast as I pressed gentle kisses to the inked band that stained his skin.
He gasped and reached for me with his other hand, his fingers threading through my hair to the nape of my neck.
I held his wrist to my cheek with both hands and rested my forehead against his. “I trust you. I don’t think you’re a liar,” I said. “But I do think there are things that you aren’t telling me. Things that would explain other things. Things you won’t say, maybe things you can’t say.”
I’d felt faint scarring under the tattoo when my lips had brushed his wrist, and I wondered if he’d offer any explanation.
“There are…I can’t…,” he said “Not…not…”
“Not yet,” I answered for him. “I understand.” And I did. I have scars of my own.
“You’re broken too,” he said, a muscle tensing in his jaw. It was half question, half statement.
“You know I am.” I lifted my gaze to his.
He nodded, his eyes welling with empathy and questions. He longed to ask, and I hoped he didn’t. I wasn’t ready either. Not yet.
“This,” I said, tracing a finger over the black band that was still pressed to my cheek. “This has something to do with what happened to you?”
“It does,” he said, his thumb ghosted over my mouth, and his eyes fell, burning a trail across my lips.
“It was very bad?”
“Yes. People died,” he said, those crystal blue eyes fluttering to mine.
“Same,” I said, choking on the word as his hands closed in, cradling my face in his palms.
“Oh, Jane,” he whispered, pressing me to his chest. “I’m so sorry.”
I swallowed a sob, wrapped my arms around him and held tight, willing the hot boil of emotion that rioted in my gut to subside. If I cried right now, in his arms, I knew it would end me.
“Is it enough?” he asked, pulling me back so his eyes could pierce mine, searching. “For now? Can we acknowledge just this, and leave the rest? Can we promise to only speak of it, if we choose? If it’s possible?”
“Yes,” I said as hot tears streamed down my face.
“Are you sure? What if it’s never possible?”