13. Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Thirteen

Roman

L ydia is really nice. I didn’t know that Beck’s mom is a nurse, but it makes sense. He had to get that kindness from someone. The way she talked to me, how gentle and cautious she was with me, felt like a balm to my soul. She has the same calming effect as Beck, and I like her already.

When Beck’s dad speaks, the low rumble of his voice makes me jump a little. “Hi, I’m Daniel, but most people call me Danny. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“I’m Roman. It’s nice to meet you too,” I force myself to say. His voice is a little rougher than I expected, and he’s huge. He would easily tower over me, and I’m not exactly short. The thought sends a sharp spike of fear through my chest, and I have to work hard to control my breathing so I don’t freak out.

“I want Roman to move in,” Beck says, and my head jerks around to him, panic forgotten, as my mouth drops open in shock. “I know it’s a little unconventional because we’re dating, but we have the spare room, and I can’t let him go back to his dad’s.” His voice cracks at the end, and I watch in horror as tears fill his eyes.

“Is that who did this?” Daniel asks. “Your father?”

I nod, shame creeping in, making me drop my gaze. I focus hard on mine and Beck’s intertwined hands. His hand is shaking in mine, and I don’t know how I missed that before.

Lydia’s soft voice interrupts my thoughts. “Okay, we can set him up in the spare room. But you’re an adult, Beck. He can also stay in your room, if you’d rather—as long as that’s something you’re comfortable with, Roman.”

I lift my head back up and look at her in surprise. She’s gonna agree? Just like that? No begging or pleading? No convincing? Agrees solely because Beck asked? “Are you sure that’s okay?” I’m hoping that my question doesn’t make her take it back. Hoping that the extra few seconds of consideration don’t make her realize that I’m not worthy of her kindness, or her son.

She nods at the same time as her husband. “Of course it is. Do you want to go back to your dad’s house?” I’m shaking my head before she even finishes her question. “Okay then. That’s all I need to know. You’ll be safe here, I promise.”

Daniel’s rough voice cuts in after hers. “Would you like to press charges? This is assault, Roman. And it shouldn’t go unpunished.”

Beck squeezes my hand and leans in to me. “Dad’s a cop. He can get this taken care of for you,”

“No, I… no. I want to forget it ever happened and stay away from him.”

Daniel doesn’t exactly look thrilled about that, and I feel myself shrinking back a little in fear. I know he’s arrested my dad a couple of times, and I don’t want him to think badly of me because of it. But I also don’t want to get the cops involved or press charges. “Okay. I can respect that. Can we take some photos of the bruising? In case you change your mind, so we have proof?”

I hesitate, not really wanting there to be images of my bruised and battered face out in the world. Daniel speaks up again. “It’s only to protect you. Plus, I’m not above a little blackmail. If he tries to show up here, I can tell him to back off, or we’ll press charges—and that we have proof. It’ll be like an insurance policy.”

“Please, Roman?” Beck whispers, squeezing my hand in his.

“No one will see them but us,” Daniel promises.

“Okay,” I whisper. “Yeah, we can do that.”

Daniel stands up, and my stomach drops a little at how big he is. How much damage could he do with his fists? I feel like I can’t breathe, and it takes me a minute to realize that I’m hyperventilating. Within seconds, Lydia is in my face, her kind eyes floating in front of me.

“It’s okay, sweetie. Purse your lips for me like this.” My lips feel numb, but I mimic what she’s doing. “Good, good. Now breathe in for me, through your belly, really slow. Like you’re breathing through a straw, and let it out nice and slow.” I do what she says, and she smiles at me. “Good job. Again.” We continue this until my breathing has returned to normal and my body feels completely drained. I don’t even have enough energy to be embarrassed.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper to Daniel. He shakes his head at me, his eyes calm pools of blue, exactly like his son’s.

“No need to be sorry. I wouldn’t hurt you, but I know your brain doesn’t know that. I don’t take it personally.”

I know he’s right. He’s kind. I can tell. Like Lydia, like Beck. Beck. I turn my head to look at him, and he has tears swimming in his eyes. The droplets are clinging to his eyelashes, and the sight makes my chest ache and tears well up in my own eyes. “I’m sorry,” I choke out around the lump in my throat.

He shakes his head and leans in to press a kiss on my forehead. “No apologies, Roman. You’re fine. This is normal. It’s okay.”

I take a deep breath and turn back to Daniel, who’s holding his phone in his hand, presumably to take photos. I nod slightly at him, and he steps closer to me, but then drops to his knees. “I won’t touch you, okay?”

I nod before turning my head back and forth as he takes photos of my cheek and throat, and then he quietly asks me to stand. When I do, Beck pulls my shirt up, and Daniel snaps a couple of photos of the bruising on my hip.

“Okay, all done.” He scoots back away from me on his knees and then stands up, walking quickly back to his spot on the couch. His shoulders are hunched, like he’s trying to make himself appear smaller so as not to scare me.

“Do you have clothes and stuff here, darling?” Lydia asks, and I nod.

“Beck made me grab a couple of days’ worth of stuff when he brought me here. I didn’t know he was going to ask for me to move in, though.” There’s not a lot left at Dad’s, but I do want the rest of my clothes. I should probably have them get my car, too. Beck brought me here, and he always drives when we go out, which is fine by me, but I worked hard to buy what I have, and I don’t want to leave it behind. There’s really nothing else there that I care about.

“I don’t want you going back to the house, Roman,” Daniel says, and I nod at him, my stomach churning. I don’t really want to go back there either, but I also don’t want to leave my dad alone. “Beck and I will go this weekend and get the rest of your things. Make a list of what you want and we’ll grab it for you, okay?”

I nod again, so exhausted I can barely keep my eyes open. The medicine that Lydia gave me is finally kicking in and my bruises have gone from an angry throbbing to a dull ache, and I just want to lie down.

I turn to Beck. “Can I please go lie down?”

“Of course. C’mon.” He stands up from the couch and pulls me up with him, careful not to jostle me too much. I follow him down the hallway and sigh in relief when he leads me to his room and not to the spare.

“You don’t have to share a room with me if you don’t want to. If it would make you feel more comfortable, I can set you up in the spare,” he says. I can tell in his voice that he hates that idea about as much as I do.

“No, thank you. I’d much rather stay with you, if that’s alright.”

He nods, the relief in his eyes clear. “Yes, that’s so alright. I don’t know how I would have managed if you hadn’t wanted to. Do you want something more comfortable to wear?”

I nod at him, and instead of picking up my bag off the floor, he heads to his dresser and pulls out a pair of shorts. He turns to look at me and asks, “Do you want a shirt, or do you want to go without one?”

As stupid as it sounds, that depends. If he’s going to lie with me and I get to soak in the feel of his skin, then I don’t want one, but if he’s not, then I do. I feel like it will give me a little extra armor, even if that’s a little stupid. “Are you going to lie down with me?” I ask.

He nods, “Of course I will. No way you’re getting rid of me now.”

“Are you going to wear one?”

He cocks his head to the side. “Not if you don’t want me to.”

“Then no shirt.” He nods and steps closer to me. I start to pull my shirt over my head and he tsks.

“Stop, beautiful. Let me take care of you, okay?”

“Okay,” I whisper, and he grips the hem, gently pulling it over my head. Then he unbuttons and unzips my pants, tugging them down past my hips and letting them drop to the floor. When they’re pooled around my ankles, he kneels in front of me, and I lift my feet one at a time as he finishes removing them. I feel a little silly, but I have to admit that his gentle care makes me feel good.

“Here, lift your foot for me,” he says, and I can feel my cheeks heating a bit.

“I can put my pants on myself,” I grumble. His eyes dart up to mine in alarm, but then he smiles softly when he sees the blush on my cheeks.

“You can,” he says, his voice low and soothing. “But do you want to? Or do you want me to take care of you?” For a moment, I consider telling him no. That I can take care of myself, that I’ve been doing it alone all this time. But the weight of carrying everything alone is dragging me down, and I want this. I want to let him care for me. I want to let him take the lead and support me.

“I want you to take care of me.” The admission is hard, but his gentle care is making me feel tingly and happy inside. I definitely don’t want to give that up. Plus, I can’t remember the last time anyone took care of me like this. I’m sure my mom must have at some point, right? But my memories of her are fuzzy, so I can’t really be sure.

“Good. Because I definitely want to. Relax and let me take care of you.”

My cheeks burn, but I drop my hands to his shoulders, lifting my feet one at a time and letting him pull the soft shorts up my legs and settle them on my waist.

“There we go,” he coos, and if I wasn’t so fucking run down and emotionally drained, I think this would be making me hard. “Great, you did perfect for me,” he says in that same soothing, low voice. I don’t know why those words make me feel so good inside, but they do. They really fucking do.

He stands up and gently ushers me into the bed. “Hang on. Let me change and I’ll be right there, okay?”

I’m about to ask him to change in here, so I don’t have to be alone, when he drops his pants and pulls his shirt over his head. He steps out of his jeans gracefully and walks to his dresser to pull another pair of shorts out, the muscles in his back flexing as he walks across the room.

He slips them on and walks back toward me, climbing into the bed with me, and I immediately plaster myself to his body. The feel of his warm skin soothes me instantly. After laying in silence for a few minutes, I ask. “Why didn’t you grab shorts out of my bag?”

He shrugs and kisses my forehead. “I wanted you in my clothes. In my clothes, in my bed, safe and sound in my arms.” The possessive rumble of his voice makes me a little dizzy. But there’s no use in arguing because I agree with everything he said. And I definitely won’t complain about being possessed by him.