Page 58 of Shadowed Whispers

“Do you know how?” I challenge, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of my lips despite the chill.

“Can’t be that hard,” Leo mutters, a frown creasing his forehead as he scrutinizes my old Jeep and the zippers that enclose my vehicle. He opens the door and hops out, determination etched on his face as he pulls out the cover and glares at it, as if challenging it to defy him.

“He will be fine,” Matteo insists, hopping out of the Jeep and opening my door before I can react.

“Go get your things,” Leo instructs, his tone more of an absentminded command than a request. “Matteo, grab me some snacks.”

I should help him, but Matteo grabs my hand and begins dragging me toward the doors. “He’s fine,” Matteo reiterates calmly, making me want to believe him.

It’s odd, having someone do things for me. It feels wrong somehow. I glance over my shoulder just as I’m about to walk in to see Leo completely focused on securing the Jeep in the parking lot. “I feel bad leaving him out there alone.”

“Worried?” Matteo grabs a cart that I probably don’t need and pushes it into the store.

“No,” I lie, my answer a little too quick and sharp.

Matteo grunts and pauses just inside, waiting on me. “You shouldn’t lie,” he says, calling me out.

“Habit,” I admit, unsure what to do with myself. I grip the side of the cart and push it in the direction of the toiletries. I might as well stock up while we are here.

“Break it,” he suggests, as if changing a lifetime of habits is as easy as flipping a switch.

“It’s not that easy.” I sigh, gesturing toward the supplement aisle and beginning to browse. Clearly, I’m pretending to be far more interested in everything around me than I actually am.

Leaning over the cart, Matteo crosses his arms, his dark eyes watching me with more intensity than I’m used to. “Why?” he asks, that single word going off in my head like a gunshot.

A shiver worms its way through me, and I have to look away from him. He’s intense, and he makes me feel like he can see beneath all the bullshit I throw up around me to keep him and everyone else out. Only, he keeps digging and chipping away at my walls until he can find the woman hidden underneath. I know if he ever gets there, he won’t like what he sees—a broken woman full of scars that continue to haunt her.

I can’t ever allow my scars to show. The moment I do, he will run away, leaving me alone.

Grinding my teeth, I pick up a bottle of old-school vitamins.

“Why?” he repeats, refusing to let it go.

I toss the vitamins in the cart and look at him. He sucks his pouty lip into his mouth, biting on it before releasing the plump flesh, then he raises a brow in question. This man has far more patience than any man I’ve ever encountered. It’s unnerving, yet a part of me wants to open up to him.

“I don’t know,” I blurt and turn around. It’s another lie, and it makes my body feel heavy as I walk to the end of the aisle where a wall of feminine products rises before me.

“You know,” he says, following me. “You just don’t want to tell me.”

“Does it matter?” I glance at him as he pauses beside me.

“You can lie to me and everyone else,” he says, his voice deep and gravelly, “but don’t lie to yourself.”

Swallowing my nerves, I look away and grab my usual box of tampons, tossing them into the cart before walking down the next aisle.

Truth is, the only way for me to survive is by lying to myself, telling myself that everything that haunts me didn’t happen, because the moment I admit that the demons are real will be the moment I have to acknowledge that what happened to me is real.

I’m not ready to do that yet. I don’t think I’ll ever be ready to do that.

“You are a very stoic man, Matteo,” I comment as I grab body wash and chuck it into the cart, moving along the aisle. His presence is a calm force, steady and unobtrusive.

“I was raised to listen,” he says, and I’m glad he’s talking and not forcing me to spill my life story. “Not just to those who speak, but to listen to the silence.”

Curiosity gnaws at my insides. I want to know more about this stranger, because despite sharing a moment at the diner, this feels far more intimate. I learned early on that my body is nothing more than flesh and bone, something others deem as theirs to use and play with at their whims and desires, but true intimacy is far scarier. Yet, I want to know about him.

“What does that mean?” I turn to him, the cart a barrier between us.

His lips twitch before he answers. “I’ll tell you if you tell me why you lie.”

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