Page 65 of Hard to Judge

“What about me?” His gaze narrows.

Will you feed me?

“Do you like to cook?” I chicken out.

“I only prepare Japanese dishes.” His gaze slips to Arlo. “No Michelin star meals, I’m afraid.”

“I’m afraid I’m in love.” I grin and then realize what I’ve said. Sure, it was in jest, but also not.

He rounds the end of the island, coming to stand so close I forget to breathe, even with the anchor of Arlo’s touch. His headdrops low until our eyes are level. “You like Japanese food?” he asks, giving me grace.

Of course, I press my luck. “I love it.”

“Looks like you’re in for a sushi and storm night soon.” He winks.

I literally can’t wait to see the skyline spark with lightning from the extremely high windows.

“The forecast calls for storms on Saturday,” Arlo chimes.

Hota straightens, boops my nose, and then stands in front of Arlo. His thick arms cross over his chest. His posture unyielding. “Why now?”

He’s not talking about sushi or the forecast.

Realizing this too, Arlo stands and meets Hota’s eyes. He keeps his arms by his sides. His scarred skin is also a work of art. It wasn’t planned or chosen, but it’s a testament to his strength. They represent the horrors he was able to work past, little by little.

I feel like this will be another step in that journey.

The two of them are a picture. Two dark and battered angels with tattered wings and faces worth all your tears and hearts worth your soul.

“Since I quit seeing Hailey as my therapist, I’ve been going two days a week. I’ve been slogging through my shit and trying to deal with it the best I can. And then there’s Hailey.” He spares me a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but I see the pride in them.

“Seeing her overcome her own demons has made it easier to face mine.” He looks Hota dead in the eyes. “Even the darkest ones.”

Hota’s Adam’s apple bobs. “What happened that Christmas?”

Arlo’s head hangs, and his shoulders roll forward. It looks as though an invisible god set the weight of the world on his back.

Hota’s lips purse. He bites the inside of his cheek. I see the hope of this working die in his eyes. He nods and blinks as though trying to come to terms with the idea without losing his shit.

But I know how much Arlo wants this. I know how much he’s been working. I hold on to hope, no matter how small.

Hota’s chest heaves with a breath. “You don’t have to?—”

“I came,” Arlo blurts.

Hota’s mouth goes slack. Mine does too.

Arlo rolls his shoulders back and lifts his head. Moisture coats his eyes. “In all the times my uncle raped me, I’d never so much as gotten hard. My body would just shut down, see me through the nightmare, and then come back when it was safe.” His head cocked to the side, and his lips wiggle. “Safer.”

I pull a breath so deep into my lungs, it hurts. Hota seemingly does the same.

“When I went back, the thought of you and me was so fresh. It was the only good thing I had in that hellscape.” Arlo presses his tongue into the side of his mouth and rocks back on his heels. A tear slips from his eyes, bypassing his face altogether and hitting the floor.

“He was raping me.” My love gnaws on his cheek, and I want to go to him, but I can’t. This is his demon to slay.

Hota’s bound arms drop, and he grabs Arlo’s hands. “You don’t have to say any more. I’m sorry. Forget I asked.”

“No.” He interlaces their fingers. “I have to do this. I want to.” He nods and tears slip down his face. “He was in me, and I imagined it was you.”

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