Twisted Fate (Dark Heart Duet #2) - Ella James Page 0,62
there someone else?” I stiffen in his arms, already wanting to move away, but he squeezes me closer. “No.”
His chest trembles…then his body gives a hard jerk. He’s disentangled from me, clearing the footboard before I can blink.
Luca
Her arms find me from behind as I stand with my head down, gripping the back of the couch.
“Come back to bed,” she murmurs. “Talk to me, and let’s drink cider and have lemon cake and hold each other.”
“I can’t.”
Her palm rubs my back. Then she presses her cheek to my shoulder blade and stands there playing big spoon with her hands clasped under my pecs. “Then we’ll just stand here. Maybe forever.” She kisses my back then rubs her cheek against me.
“I want to know so many things,” she whispers. “Feels like we’ve missed forever.”
I can feel her chest expand on a big breath she blows out quietly.
“Tell me…what’s your favorite thing that you do regularly?”
The answer comes to mind immediately, but I’d never tell her. It’s too strange, too sad. I think it would make her sad to know. My second choice is also something I can’t tell her. It wouldn’t make sense to talk about my pink ops—not without official clearance and endorsement. I close my eyes.
“Ice hockey,” I rasp, and swallow hard to clear the roughness. “We do this rec league in Brooklyn.”
“Is that how you learned to skate?”
I nod. “My friend Alesso talked me into it. And Leo.”
“I remember those names.”
“From work?” I close my eyes, tugging more air into my lungs.
“From when we were younger. Does your brother play, too?”
I nod. “Just started last year. He’d come to so many games…”
“Just wore him down?”
I nod. He likes to be familiar with something before he wades in. “We’d been playing for seven years.”
She traces a line on my back. “When do you play?”
“Thursday evenings.”
“What do you play? What position?”
“Usually center.” I shake my head. “That mean anything to you?”
“Not even one thing.”
I look over my shoulder, and she takes the opportunity to duck under my arm, squeezing between the front of me and the back of the couch. She warps her arms around my chest and kisses my pec. “Do you like it, playing?”
“Yeah. When I can’t go, my brother plays. We have a few fill-ins because sometimes something comes up.”
She nods. “That makes sense.”
She trails a finger down my side, and when chills follow, she says, “Come back to bed.” She kisses my chin, and then we’re open mouthed and moaning. When we break away, I can’t help laughing. “What the fuck is this?”
“This is us,” she giggles. “Isn’t that a TV show?”
She clasps my hand and tugs me toward the short hall. Back in the bedroom, I grab a sweatshirt for her and an undershirt for myself. She props pillows up against the headboard. When we’re sitting with our backs against them, she pulls my arm into her lap and traces the veins from my elbow to my wrist. I close my eyes and lean more heavily against the pillows. She strokes my fingers, and I curl them.
“Does that hurt?”
“Yes.” I spread my fingers back out for her. Every time she touches me, it hurts—because I know it has to end soon.
“I never want to hurt you again.” She sounds so earnest.
I smile with a shake of my head. “You will never get that wish, la mia rosa.”
“I can’t stand to think of you without me.”
I catch her hand with mine, squeezing.
“I want you to be okay,” she whispers.
“I’m okay.” I open my eyes, finding hers. “Don’t worry about me.” I smooth her hair back, and she shuts her eyes. I can’t help putting an arm around her, pulling her against my chest, inhaling her sweet perfume.
“Can we still keep running?” she asks softly.
“I think you should stop the running.”
“Can we see each other somewhere, sometimes?”
“Where?” I kiss her forehead. “Where would be safe? Rosa, put yourself first. You worked hard to get where you are. Put it first. You said you like it.”
“I don’t like this.” Her voice quavers, and I hug her—maybe too hard.
“I tried to make you go this morning.”
“Yes, but I could feel it.”
“Feel what?” I hold my breath, knowing she’ll say something else that hurts us both.
“How you’re the same.”
“I already told you I’m not the same.”
“You are the same. You’re my cuore, with a lot more scars. It makes me sad that you’re alone.” She sniffles, and I ruffle her hair, forcing a laugh. “I’m not alone.”