Page 31 of His Secret Betrayal (Cedarwood Valley Duology #2)

Alek

“ A re you going to make it?” I tease Luke a short while later, both of us having moved to my bedroom where we lay facing one another on our sides.

He gives me a sheepish grin, his quiet pants and glazed expression making me rather smug.

That dopey-eyed, dazed, post-orgasmic smile is worth every twinging ache in my knees.

He scoots a little closer to me, turning his face into my shoulder, his hand reaching over to splay along my bare back.

My smile begins to slip as he absentmindedly runs a finger up and down my spine.

It's such a casual touch, yet it makes my heart stutter and my eyes sting. I blink to clear away the sensation. I don’t think I realized until today just how badly I needed that acceptance.

How badly I needed to feel desired. So far, Luke has embraced every single part of me.

Which, I suppose, makes sense in a way. We are both scarred in our own ways, and a little broken.

Maybe, if we fit our broken pieces together, they’ll fuse to create something beautiful and whole. Maybe we can help each other heal.

I clear my throat and speak quietly. “I was a teenager when I got those scars.”

Luke lifts his head with a searching look, some of the sleep clearing from his eyes as he blinks up at me. “You don’t have to tell me unless you want to. If you aren’t ready…”

I swallow, nerves skittering through my belly. “I-I want to.”

He nods. “I would like to know your story. Whatever you feel comfortable sharing with me.”

Needing some sort of physical touch to anchor me right now, I run my palm down his side. Stopping at his hip, I give it an affectionate squeeze. “When I was thirteen, my dad went into a drunk rage and pushed me into a campfire pit.”

Luke sucks in a sharp breath, shock flashing through his emerald eyes as some of the color leeches from his face. His still roaming fingers halt their movements along my back. The whispered confession makes my own mouth go dry, my limbs suddenly cold and heavy.

He blinks. “Was it…was it an accident?”

When I shake my head, he curses softly.

“He was an alcoholic and bipolar, a nasty combination to handle at times.” I huff out a dark, brittle chuckle.

“But that’s… cruel ,” Luke whispers, his eyebrows bunching together.

My heart melts a little at that, the knowledge that, despite everything Luke has been through with his own mother, he still can’t conceive of someone’s cruelty existing beyond the struggles of addiction or mental illness.

He hasn’t yet accepted that some people are just… cruel.

Unable to help myself, I reach out and run the pad of my thumb along the creases in his forehead.

“Both of my parents were alcoholics, but my dad also had a temper. He refused to go to therapy or take medication. He beat on me and Mom a lot, but that night…” I trail off, and even after all these years, hurt still sluices through me at the memories.

At the man who was meant to be my protector, the man who should have loved me unconditionally but, instead, taught me that love hurts.

That night he was in one of his rare moods.

The extra bad kind where he could lash out for any perceived slight, and you knew you were in for a beating.

Normally, I tried to avoid him when he was like that.

“I grew up in a run-down trailer park a few hours from here,” I continue. “Both of my parents struggled to hold down jobs, so sometimes we went months without heat or water, but when you grow up like that, it becomes your norm. You don’t know to miss the things you’ve never really had.”

Like love and affection.

Gentle touches instead of harsh ones.

Warm food in your belly and heat on a cold winter morning.

“That sounds like a fucking nightmare,” Luke whispers, his fingers now resuming their idle stroking.

I swallow. “It was, but until I got older and saw my friends at school didn’t live the way I did, I didn’t know any better.

The trailer park had a sort of communal campfire pit set up in a field behind the lot.

People used to gather around it and drink.

One night, while my mom was at work, Dad was out there drinking.

He was being a drunk nuisance, causing a scene in front of everyone.

So, I went out there and tried to get him to come back inside, but… ”

“Oh, Alek,” Luke whispers, his eyes watery. Leaning forward, he places a chaste kiss right over a thick patch of scar tissue on my shoulder.

So, I tell him the whole sordid story.

“Dad, please,” I whisper, glancing around furtively. People are milling around, some of them sitting. Most of them are silent now, gawking at us as I tug on his arm. He sways on his feet, sneering down at me before jerking away.

“Why should I leave? This is a public space. If they don’t like me, they can fuck off,” he hisses.

Someone snickers nearby, many people sending him irritated looks, some sending me pitying expressions, while others just look judgmental. My face burns, heat searing across my cheeks and down my neck as I fidget in place. My pulse begins to race, my heart going wild.

He's in an ugly mood, and someone is liable to get hurt. I just don’t want…I don’t want him to hurt anyone the way he hurts me. But they are all staring at me, and he’s got that cold look in his eyes. He shouldn’t be here right now, but I’m not sure there’s anything I can do about it.

I want to help, but what can I do?

Dad pushes me, his hand jabbing right into my shoulder and making me wince. The push forces me to take a step back, putting me a little closer to the campfire pit behind me. The warmth of the nearby flames has sweat gathering along the back of my neck, the crackling and snapping making me jump.

“Get me another beer,” Dad commands, his tone gruff even though there’s a slight slur. An empty beer can is shoved unceremoniously into my chest, and I wrap a clumsy hand around the aluminum.

I do as he says, knowing if I refuse, it will only make things worse for me.

My legs shake as I throw the empty can away and march over to the nearby cooler, some of the ice beginning to melt as I plunge my hand inside and fish around.

My fingers are trembling as they wrap around a can, but I manage to pull one out.

Keeping my head down, I begin making my way back to his spot near the campfire.

He’s talking to himself—loudly enough for everyone to hear—about how slow I am, saying that everyone at this trailer park is a pussy and it’s rubbing off on me.

People are murmuring, their angry voices making me want to cry.

God, I hope he blacks out soon.

There’s not much I can do when he gets like this.

Nothing but endure it.

“Urgh!” My worn-out sneakers collide with a rock, the blunt edges catching on the soles and making me stumble.

The beer can goes flying into the air as I pitch forward, arms braced to catch myself, but it’s too late.

I land on the ground with a hard thud, the palms of my hands smarting from the impact.

The wayward beer can lands nearby, the amber-colored liquid soaking into the grass.

Everything inside me goes cold, my stomach catapulting straight off a cliff.

“You clumsy, worthless fuck!” Dad roars. When I glance up, he’s stomping toward me, his face turning a crimson red.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to!” I quickly scramble to my feet, knowing he has no problem kicking me while I’m already down. If you’ve never taken a boot to the ribs, I don’t recommend it.

“Come on, Michael. It was an accident. The boy will get you another one,” a male voice says nearby.

“I think he’s had too much. He’s out of control,” an older female voice whispers, her voice nasally .

But I don’t pay them any attention. Instead, I brace myself for the inevitable pain. I try to ignore the swirling panic in my gut, that voice inside my head saying I’ll never be strong enough to fight back.

I’ve tried to be good. I always do what he says, but he still hits me. Why can’t I make him stop?

My panicked cry is cut off when he launches himself at me, his hand wrapping around my throat.

Alarmed protests sound all around me, hands grabbing at his shoulders.

My mouth falls open, pain spasming in my throat and lungs when my airflow is blocked.

My fingers claw at his hands, my feet kicking at his shins as he curses.

“Come on, man!” someone yells.

Just as he’s pulled off me, just as air returns to my lungs, sweet relief filling my body, something sinister passes through his eyes. I’m fucked. I don’t know what that look means, but there’s nothing I can do to protect myself.

Nothing, nothing, nothing—

He surges forward, managing to dislodge himself from the hands yanking him back. Then his palms are on my chest, shoving me roughly, making me stumble back, my arms flailing when I realize how close I am to the roaring fire, then I’m falling, and—

Searing pain.

Burning skin.

The smell of burning flesh.

My burning flesh.

I scream, and scream, and scream.

My cheeks are damp by the time I finish my story.

But what surprises me even more are the tears trailing down Luke’s cheeks.

The emotions on his face are nearly a mirror image of my own, like he’s feeling it with me.

Almost as if hearing about my pain is causing him pain.

Absently, I wonder if he’s always felt his emotions so strongly.

“I honestly don’t remember how long I was in the hospital.” I shrug. “Weeks, months maybe. It’s all a blur now.” All I have left of my hospital stay are hazy memories of pain and hurt.

“Did somebody take you away after that?” he asks.

When I remain silent, Luke bolts upright in bed. He curses softly, the muscles of his jaw feathering. “Please tell me the system we live in doesn’t suck that much. Tell me you didn’t have to go back to the home of your abuser.”