11. Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven

Roman

I ’m weak and tired. Embarrassed too. But I’m also warm and cozy. My mind is screaming at me to beg Beck to stay. I don’t want to be alone, not really. I trust him. Even though I’m scared, I trust him. And now he knows . There’s not much point in hiding it anymore. He saved me. He took one look at what my dad did to me and took me. Like a knight in shining armor—or, well, jeans and Chucks. I feel so off-kilter and needy.

Stay, stay, stay, stay, stay, my mind chants over and over.

“Of course I’ll stay, Roman. I’m not going anywhere,” Beck says, his voice soft and soothing, kind of like when he talked to the roosters at the fair. Huh, did I ask him to stay out loud?

“You did, and I promise I won’t leave.” Fuck me, why are my inside thoughts coming out of my mouth?

“I think you’re in shock, beautiful,” he says softly. Beautiful. I like that—him calling me beautiful. I feel a smile tugging at my lips as the bed beside me dips. I open my eyes, and Beck is leaning over me, concern shining in his wide blue eyes.

“We don’t have to talk now, Roman. But we will have to talk eventually. I need to know what’s going on. Okay?” His voice is gentle, soothing some of the rough edges of shame and exhaustion in my body.

I feel myself nod, knowing that even if I don’t want to talk about it, I need to. I owe him that much. His shoulders lose some of their tension, and his relief is palpable as he kicks his shoes off and climbs under the covers beside me. He props himself up with a hand tucked under his cheek so he can watch me. His eyes roam over my face, lingering on the bruise on my cheek and then trailing down to my throat. After a few moments, he lays his head down on the pillow and holds his arm up, silently inviting me to cuddle into him. I want nothing more in the world than to soak in his strength, so I scoot forward and let him wrap me up in his arms. He runs his fingers up and down my back, humming softly, and my body relaxes. I settle into the warmth of his body, and the fear and shame from the last twenty-four hours drain from me all at once.

I wake with a start, my heart pounding in my chest. Something is holding me down, and I panic, thrashing to free myself from whatever is keeping me hostage. My blood rushes in my ears, and I struggle to breathe, my lungs trying and failing to draw in a breath. A sharp pain shoots through my side, forcing a cry from my lips.

“Roman. It’s me. It’s Beck.” I hear the words, but they don’t make sense. The panic coursing through my body is making them sound distorted and strange.

Within seconds, the hold on my body is released, and someone cups my face. I flinch, expecting to get hit, but the fingers are gentle. My brow furrows in confusion. Where am I? What’s happening?

“Roman? Can you look at me?”

I force myself to focus on the voice speaking to me, and I’m met with the endlessly kind blue of Beck’s eyes. Beck. I’m at Beck’s house. In his bed. I’m safe. I take a shuddering breath, then another, as my heart rate slowly returns to normal.

After a few more moments of deep breathing, I croak out, “I’m sorry. Fuck, I’m sorry.”

He’s already shaking his head before I finish apologizing. “Nope. You will not apologize to me for this, Roman. Absolutely not. If anyone should be sorry, it’s me. I should have known you’d be anxious when you woke up.”

“I didn’t even know. How would you know?”

“Because you were anxious when I brought you here. I really think you were in shock. And then you fell asleep so quickly. It’s only natural that you’d wake up scared.”

I remember him saying that. I think you’re in shock, beautiful. God, I really like that. Not the shock part, but the “beautiful” part. As my body fully relaxes, my stomach growls loudly, the sound echoing through the quiet room.

He smiles at me. “Hungry?”

I throw my hand over my face as it heats, an embarrassed groan rattling through my chest. He’s figured out that my dad is an abusive prick. He brought me to his house. I fell asleep on him, and now he can hear my stomach growling. There is no way my shit show of a self is what he signed up for when he asked me on a date a few weeks ago. He’s too good for you . And that thought, more than anything, jerks me back to the reality of the situation.

I fling the blankets off myself and stand up, looking around the room for my bag. I have to get out of here. I can feel Beck’s eyes on me as I move around the room. Where the fuck is my bag?

“You’re not going anywhere, Roman,” Beck says. Wrong. I’m leaving now. I have to.

I don’t say anything. It doesn’t matter. I’m not staying here. He doesn’t need this. I spot my bag leaned up against the closet door and make a beeline for it. Before I can even blink, Beck is standing in front of me, eyes blazing, jaw set in a harsh line.

I glare at him, anger rising. Good. Angry is good. I can work with angry.

“Move, Beck, I’m going home.”

He stares at me for a minute, then shakes his head, his eyes pleading, and I feel my resolve crumble—just a little.

“Please don’t,” he whispers. “I… you can’t go. Please. I need to know you’re safe.”

“Why?” I ask, anger bleeding into my voice.

“Fuck. Because I do. I want you to stay here, where I can keep you safe. Please,” he begs, and I can literally feel my will to fight him evaporating.

We stare at each other for a few tense, awkward minutes. Why are you fighting this so hard? You know you want to stay.

I nod, and the relief that flashes over his face makes my knees go weak. “But only for a couple of days. Then I have to go home. I have to take care of my dad.”

He scoffs. “Fuck that guy, Roman.”

“He doesn’t have anyone else, Beck,” I say, feeling oddly defensive. I wish I could hate the man, but it’s hard. As much as I despise what he does and the person he is, he’s still my dad. He’s all I have left. The only family I have. And some days are good. He apologizes and lets me take care of him. He used to be such a good dad. I want that version of him back.

He blinks at me a few times. He doesn’t get it—not that I blame him. Hell, I don’t even get it. Why do I try so hard to make a man who clearly doesn’t love me or respect me do just that?

“Do you want something to eat?” he asks, and my shoulders slump in relief, thankful for the change in subject.

I nod, embarrassed. Honestly, how fucking stupid is it to be embarrassed about needing to eat? Seemingly unaware of my internal angst, he grabs my hand and leads me out of the room.

Even though I’ve been here before many times, the shame still churning in my gut makes the experience feel brand new. This is nothing like where I come from. From the expensive-looking hardwood floors, tall ceilings, and stark white walls to the family pictures hanging in the hall—smiles all the way around. Nothing like what I’m used to. He’s too good for you.

Beck’s voice pulls me from my spiraling thoughts. “What do you want? We can find something here, or I can order us a pizza.”

“I’m good with whatever,” I mumble, not wanting to put him out more than I already have.

When we reach the kitchen, he gestures to a bar stool at the large island. I climb up and sit quietly, my eyes glued to the shiny black and white marble surface of the countertop.

“I can make breakfast foods and spaghetti, and that’s it,” he says apologetically.

“Whatever’s fine,” I say, not looking up from the countertop.

He drums his fingers on the marble, and I’m tempted to look up at him, but I don’t. No matter how badly I want to. God, how did I get myself into this position? I’m not used to having an audience for my shame spiral after Dad hurts me. It’s comforting in some ways, but too exposing in others. Now that he’s seen this, the literal worst of me, I don’t think he’ll ever believe that I’m still me. The me who held his hand on the Ferris wheel. The me who blushes every time he looks at me. The me who loves kissing and touching him. The me who’s a little bit in love with him. Fuck, I’m so gone for him . But now I’m worried. Worried that all he’s going to see when he looks at me is the sad victim.

I’m more than this.

“You know,” I start, nerves igniting inside me, fear of his reaction making it difficult to get the words out. “This is not who I am. I’m not some victim you have to feel sorry for. I’m more than this,” I say, as I wave my hand broadly around my face and down my body.

There’s a long pause and then, “I know, Roman.”

Finally, I raise my eyes to him. He’s standing at the counter, his hands braced against it. Our eyes meet, and the pity and affection warring in his gaze sends a fresh wave of shame and anger through me.

“Stop looking at me like that. I’m not some victim, Beck. You don’t need to pity me.”

To my surprise, his lips twitch, the corner tipping up into a smile. “I know. I don’t pity you. I feel bad about what you’re going through. Of course I do, but it’s not pity. It’s actually that you—” His voice cuts off abruptly, and he glances away. His eyes come back to me quickly, and he continues. “You amaze me. I’m in awe of you.”

My stomach swoops at the words, but I’m confused, too. What does that even mean? “I don’t understand,” I say, the confusion clear in my voice.

His smile widens, his blue eyes twinkling. “You’re so good , Roman. You have this light about you. You radiate it. I don’t really know how to explain it.” He shrugs. “It’s truly remarkable that you’ve kept that inside you even after you’ve had so much bad. I’m in awe of that. Of you.”

I don’t know what to say to any of that. But my skin buzzes, and my head swims with how good his words make me feel. Then my dad’s words echo in my head, and all my good feelings drift away like they never even existed. I drop my eyes again, unable to look at him.

I hear him come around the counter, his footsteps light and quick, and then he’s grabbing my chin, tilting my head back to face him. The second I see the warmth in his eyes, I crack. “My dad says you’re too good for me.”

Anger takes the place of the warmth instantly, but I don’t flinch this time. I know he won’t hurt me.

“Fuck him. He’s projecting his own bullshit onto you. Tell me you don’t believe that.”

I shrug. I don’t want to believe that, but I can’t say I don’t—not with any honesty. I barely have time to blink before his mouth crashes down onto mine. The feel of his lips against mine short-circuits my brain, making me sway on the bar stool. He reaches out a hand to steady me, but doesn’t stop the slow, gentle caress of his lips. His tongue flicks out, grazing my bottom lip, and heat floods my stomach as a whimper rises in my throat. He makes a small noise against my mouth before pulling back slowly.

I stare up at him, my heart pounding in my ears for a whole new reason. His pupils are wide, his cheeks a little flushed. He looks so beautiful.

“Repeat after me, Roman. I am good enough for anything I want.”

Even you? I want to ask, but the stern look he gives me makes my mouth open obediently. “I am good enough for anything I want.”

“Perfect,” he says with a soft smile. “Now, are you alright with eggs and bacon?”

After eating more food than I really should have, we’re back in Beck’s room. My head is resting on his lap, and he’s gently running his fingers through my hair. It’s quiet, neither of us saying anything. It’s probably time to tell him, though. I really want to get it over with. So I can know— really know— if he’s serious about what he says.

“I was really little when it started. Right after my mom left, I think. It’s kind of fuzzy.” His fingers pause their movement in my hair. After a moment, he resumes stroking, but stays silent.

“He was nice before. Tucked me into bed, took care of me, sang to me, read me stories.” I stop to clear my throat, trying to bust the knot stuck there loose. “At first, it was name-calling. Mean words. Sometimes he’d spank me, but I figured that was normal.” Tears well up in my eyes, but Beck continues playing with my hair, his fingers gentle.

“I didn’t get it, at first,” I choke out. “I wanted him to like me again, and I didn’t understand why he didn’t.”

Beck hums softly above me and starts to stroke my temples with his thumbs. “But then, when I got older, it got worse,” I manage to say. “He’d backhand me, or hit me with his belt. He was careful not to leave marks when I was a kid, but as I started getting older, he stopped caring as much about that. I was scared, Beck. Last night… I thought he was going to kill me. He was choking me, and I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t get away.” A sob tears from my throat, followed by another, as tears soak my face.

I sit up, not wanting Beck to see me like this, but he wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me toward him. I flinch and curl in on myself at the pain that radiates through my side, and he freezes. His eyes meet mine, and the sadness there makes my heart hurt.