The Brightest Night (Origin #3) - Jennifer L. Armentrout Page 0,91

Daedalus.” I closed my eyes as an uncomfortable heaviness settled over me, oily and thick. “If the memory was true, I think he was abusive…” My stomach twisted with nausea at the thought of continuing, but I needed to say it—say all of it. I couldn’t let it sit unspoken inside me, where it would fester and become a different kind of monster. “I think I might’ve killed my father. The night I ran away was right after Jason Dasher arrived, and I think I stabbed him.”

My eyes were open again, and I was staring at my hands. Had they been covered in blood? “She didn’t—I mean, I don’t think you knew, because I think I made sure to never really think about it. I don’t think I could think about any of it. Probably not the healthiest coping skill, but maybe it was a way I could survive it all.”

“I knew.”

My head jerked toward him. I seemed to have skipped a breath.

Luc’s lashes lowered. “I knew. I always knew, but you didn’t want me to. I think you thought I would judge you for it, and I think you needed to believe that I didn’t know, so I never let on that I did.”

For some reason, my nose was stinging. So were my eyes.

“I didn’t pick it up from your thoughts. Not at first. You gave us your real name, and Paris was able to check out who you were a few days after you showed up. He learned that your father was dead,” he told me, his gaze never wavering from mine. “He suspected that you’d done it. He also suspected you had a good reason. When you first came to us, you were jumpy. If either of us reached for you or if we raised our voices, you’d flinch and often keep yourself at least an arm’s distance from us. You had a lot of faded bruises that looked like someone had made a habit of grabbing your arms. Hard.” His eyes were as hard as granite. “Neither of us ever judged you. If anything, the discovery meant you fit with us way better than we could’ve guessed, as disturbing as that was.”

A choked laugh escaped my lips, and I looked away, blinking back tears.

“You had nightmares the first year. You’d wake up screaming about blood,” he continued, his voice so very quiet. “One of those nights, I picked up bits and pieces. I just never let you know.”

Lips trembling, I pressed them together until I was sure I could speak. “I think Sylvia and Jason realized he was abusive. She said if they’d known, they would’ve come for me sooner.”

“And if that garbage human being had still been alive when Paris looked into you, he wouldn’t have been afterward.”

Even though I couldn’t remember Paris, if he was anything like Luc, I didn’t doubt that for one second. “I just … I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel about that.” My palms felt sweaty as I rubbed them against the blanket. “I don’t really feel anything other than, cool, my actual father has a name. I should be angry that he was a monster who hit his child—and I am, but it’s like I’m angry for someone else, if that makes sense? Maybe if I remembered, things would be different. I don’t know.”

The bed shifted, and then Luc said, “Look at me.”

Drawing in a shallow breath, I did just that. The moment our gazes connected, they held.

“If you end up remembering more down the road, you go through what you need to go through. We’ll go through it together, but there is nothing wrong with feeling nothing. Just like there’s nothing wrong with how you feel about Sylvia. You feel what you need to feel, whether that’s feeling nothing or everything.”

The next breath I took scorched my lungs, and I nodded. Or at least I thought I did. “I love you,” I whispered. “You know that right? I love you.”

He leaned in, touching his forehead to mine. “I know, but if you feel the need to remind me often, I have no problem with that.”

I smiled, and I realized the heavy, sticky feeling was easing off. I knew it could come back, possibly bringing with it ugly memories, but if or when it did, I would face them.

“I think I need to fess up to something,” I said, drawing back until I could see Luc’s face. “I heard you when I was sleeping, on and off.”

“Did