9. Leonor

9

LEONOR

S lowly sliding out from under Lucky, I brush his hair out of his eyes before I get out of bed. I stand there for a few minutes, just looking at him, loving him still, and longing for things to be different.

But they never will be.

I shake my head and wish away the tears that begin to form then wipe my eyes hard with the heels of my hands.

As much as I want him— the four of them— in my life, it may not be an option. I’d rather give him a chance to find his happiness, find love and all the things I’ll never be able to give him, which means I’ll have to let him go.

I’ll have to let them all go.

With a deep breath, I quietly duck into the bathroom, take a couple pills from the bottle in the cabinet then walk down the spiral staircase. I find myself heading toward the brick wall on the far side of my living room without even thinking. There are still so many ghosts here, white death shrouds covering them, hiding their secrets.

For some reason I’m drawn to the largest one in the middle, compelled to remove the cloth and jar it free from this fucked-up, morbid game of Tetris.

I pull it out far enough so it doesn’t touch another piece of furniture or disturb another sleeping ghost, and with a shaking hand I slowly pull at the sheet. I expose the rich mahogany underneath as well as the raw wound I’ve been living with, the thing festering under the surface for years.

Running my fingers over the smooth finish of the wood lid, I gently lift it up and onto the stand. I grab the bench from in front of the window and sit, centering myself the best I can before I cautiously expose the well-loved keys. Barely touching them, I notice how hard my hands are shaking, but I don’t stop.

I start to play regardless of the fear trying to tell me not to, and before I know it, I’m singing. I can’t stop now if I wanted to, it just comes pouring out in a more therapeutic way than the hundreds of therapy sessions tried to provide.

Twenty One Pilots’ Addict with a Pen .

They aren’t my words, but it doesn’t matter because the dam has burst and any words swimming in my head are pouring out of me. I close my eyes and just let it flow, and once the song finishes, I roll right into the next.

I play everything and anything that comes through my fingers—our songs, lyrics and notes we wrote—every single emotion that’s been trapped inside exploding through my voice, banging out their melody on the ivory, booming into the wide-open space around me.

When I finally look up after who knows how long, I see stormy gray eyes fixated on me as they well with tears, and it makes me smile.

Sliding over, I stop playing and pat the bench next to me, welcoming him over for what could easily be the last time. Lucky’s eyes widen, and he hesitates but eventually comes over and sits beside me. I watch his long fingers stroke the keys, his big hands light as air as they dance up and down the keyboard before I join in and play alongside him the same way we used to.

The same way we were meant to.

God, this is good.

This is right.

This is balm on my fucking destroyed soul, and I don’t know why I ever walked away from it.

Because I had to.

I shake the voice from my head just as the levity of the situation hits, and I jerk my hands off the keys abruptly, making Lucky jump and fumble the notes before putting his hands in his lap.

I look up at him but he doesn’t turn to meet my eyes, sitting there like a statue, a piece of art in his own right.

So, I face him, slowly shifting my body on the bench, and he finally does the same, almost as if he’s afraid to look at me.

I can’t really blame him for that but something inside me snapped, that band of resistance finally broke, and the only thing I can think is that it’s now or never. My normal fight or flight has turned into do or die, and if I don’t act, I’ll regret not knowing what it was like, for just one second, to be loved by Lucius De la Grange.

Lucky is searching my eyes, trying to figure out what’s going on in my mind, waiting on bated breath to see what I’m going to do. His dark chestnut brows furrow and he starts popping his knuckles, a nervous tell that he obviously hasn’t learned to hide, and I slowly raise my hand toward his face, reaching for that gorgeous scar.

His eyes dart to my fingers, but he doesn’t flinch or pull away, simply watches intently while he visibly holds his breath. I trace the path slowly, starting at the place it ends just below his earlobe then run along the length of his strong jawline to stop where it begins.

When the hoop was ripped from his thick lower lip it created a small v that acts like an arrow pointing down into the highest point of the exploding-star shaped scar. The angry deep pink is beautiful, even if the reason he has it is ugly.

I’m the reason, but it doesn’t stop me, not right now as my fingers linger there, and I bring my left hand up to cup his other cheek.

I have lost my damn mind.

At least that’s the last thing that runs through it as I bring his face down to mine and kiss his scar softly, my fingers moving to the back of his head before sliding up to tangle in his hair. I look into his eyes briefly as I put space between us, his eyes that are all but bugging out of his head as I kiss him again, this time pressing my lips against his as I pull him closer.

I feel his body shift, feel Lucky turn to face me fully as he kisses me back, those perfect lips soft and delicious as they tentatively move against my own.

My heart is going to fucking explode.

If I’d have known this was what it was like to kiss Lucky, I would have insisted we start doing it the second I met him, and as often as humanly possible thereafter.

His hands move from his lap to my hips, tugging me closer, his left sliding up my arm and around to the back of my neck where he grips tightly and tilts so he can deepen the kiss.

Which I absolutely did not expect and don’t have time to enjoy because his right hand moves up my side and I wince immediately, breaking our kiss as I do.

“What happened? What’s wrong? What did I do?” Lucky asks as he lets go of me and slides backwards on the bench.

I shake my head and look away. “Nothing. You did nothing wrong. It’s me, I’m sorry.” My hand instinctively covers my midsection as my guts twist. “It’s just… no one has ever touched my scars before.”

And now he looks horrified.

Not that I blame him.

It’s ridiculous to think he’d still want me when I look like Frankenstein’s monster, and I just screwed up our friendship by pulling a stupid stunt like kissing him.

So fucking selfish and way too goddamn soon.

Turning away, I put as much distance between us as possible without falling off the piano bench, completely incapable of looking at the expression on his face, my heart breaking a little more over this whole shitshow.

“Did I hurt you?” Lucky asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

“No. They don’t hurt anymore.” I can’t even look at him, and now I feel like I’m going to cry. Fucking awesome.

“You’re sure?”

I just nod.

“Leo, look at me.”

I can’t.

I can’t look at him and see all those things I don’t want to see on his gorgeous face. Disgust, pity, regret. I can’t do it, so I close my eyes tightly and try to erase the single best moment of my entire life. The moment I knew what it would have been like to be loved by someone who loves me unconditionally.

Because everything comes with conditions. Even perfect men who are sexy as fuck and play beautiful music.

But then his fingers are on my cheek, gently guiding me back to him. “ S’il vous plait me regardent. ”

God, why did he have to ask in French?

Asshole .

I turn and he leans in to softly kiss my lips again before looking at me while still caressing my cheek. “Would it be too much to ask for you to show them to me?”

“You want to see my scars?” My head jerks back as if he slapped me.

Did I hear him right? If so, then he’s lost his damn mind, too, which totally explains why he’d even consider kissing me right now.

I swallow hard as I press my hand flat against those disgusting lines in my skin. “They are awful. I can’t even look at them without feeling sick.”

“They are a part of you, a part that only we share.” He swings a long leg around the back of the bench so he’s straddling it, facing me once again. Which was actually really fucking smart because now he’s got a mammoth thigh on either side of me, and I won’t be able to run without landing on the floor first.

“I am already in love with all of the parts of you I know. Those scars, that part of you is something just the two of us share, and I will love that part just as much as the rest of you. Those scars are as much mine as they are yours.”

I look down at his hands that are now on my knees keeping me in place, his touch like pure, raw energy lighting up my skin at every point of contact.

“You really want to see?” I know Lucky has always had a little crazy in him but this is some batshit level crazy. And while I won’t yuck anyone’s yum, I might have to draw the line if he’s turned on by my near-death scars.

“Yeah, I really want to see.” He flashes that million-dollar smile even though he’s mocking my tone. “I promise, it has nothing to do with the fact that I’ve been dying to get you to take your clothes off in front of me for more than a decade.”

I can’t help but smile at that.

Pretty much because I feel the same, but also because of how genuine, how concerned he is as he carefully treads a line that no one has ever crossed.

I don’t deserve any of that.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” I stand up but Lucky doesn’t move his hand. He keeps it on my knee so I don’t run while still giving me the freedom to move. Then he swings his other leg over the bench, Lucky’s back to the piano so he can pull me between his thighs.

He still knows me so well.

But I take a step back to put a little space between us, causing Lucky to lurch forward and try to grab me, but I hold up a hand.

“I just needed a little space. I’m close enough to break your nose if I make one clumsy move. Which we both know is entirely possible.” I arch a brow at him, and he relaxes with a nod.

Then, with shaking hands, I grab the bottom of my T-shirt, cursing myself a bit for not changing into something better than an old sports bra and holy Rancid T before coming down here. Not that I thought I’d be turning my freak show into a striptease for a man I’m completely in love with, but that’s beside the point.

I pull it up over my head, favoring my left side as the scars pull my skin tightly back down into place. Feeling completely exposed and vulnerable, I wrap my arms around my waist and wait for the look of horror, convinced Lucky is going to be disgusted with me.

I am, why wouldn’t he be?

He grabs my wrists and pulls my arms down to my sides, takes the t-shirt from my hand then tosses it on the bench beside him. Lucky’s eyes slowly move all over my body as he analyzes every inch of my mangled flesh, and I can practically feel it the entire time.

Starting with the scar that technically ends by my belly button, he turns my hips to find where it begins, and when Lucky caresses the point of entry, I tense.

I can’t see that part but I know it did the most damage to my tattoo. And my fucking kidney.

Lucky traces it, turns me back around, and runs his fingers along the length of it. The point of exit is much more visible since I don’t have any tattoos on my stomach, and it’s a deep red color, an eyesore in the middle of my gut, but as he touches it, I feel nothing but butterflies.

I watch him closely as Lucky moves to the group of gnarly lines on the left side of my ribs, but when he looks up at me, I look away. Those scars are bigger, nastier, bone and muscle were ripped out of me while that bastard twisted the knife there.

Those scars are so ugly.

Lucky sits up straight and pulls me toward him, now practically eye level with the scars on my chest and throat. He wraps his arm around me, placing his hand on the small of my back, and the closeness makes my whole body tremble. He softly touches each scar on my chest, Lucky’s eyes flashing in anger briefly as he meets mine but then they flood with warmth, and he brings his hand up to stroke my cheek, his fingers ghosting along my jaw then down to the scar on my throat.

He repositions so he can close the fall over the keyboard, sliding the bench out of the way so he’s leaning completely against the piano itself. Lucky pulls me to him again and bends down to kiss each of the scars on my chest, his lips blazing a trail along the horizontal one above my collarbones before he runs them up the side of my neck, kissing it every few breaths before I feel them moving toward my chin.

Lucky’s hand moves to the back of my hair and he uses it to tilt my head back slightly while he kisses my jaw, and I fucking melt into him. His lips find mine again and this kiss, this kiss is so much more intense, it’s straight up everything as I wrap my arms around him and kiss him back.

I pull him closer, kiss him harder, hell I even end up biting that plump bottom lip of his. I don’t know what the fuck has gotten into me but when Lucky let’s a small growl rumble through his chest all rational thought flies out the window, and I’m ready to shove him onto the piano bench and ride him like a cowboy.

Why hello libido, how nice of you to make an appearance this afternoon.