Page 47 of Hothead

“Says who?”

“Says me.” His facial features may have been set to serious, but she totally noticed a lip twitch.

One dramatic sigh later, her fork was reluctantly placed on her plate. “Look, it’s a long story, okay? And I’m not sure right now”—her eyes scanned the candlelit restaurant before returning to him—“is the time to talk about it.”

“I beg to differ.”

“Of course you do.”

She was gifted with another twitch of the lips before he spoke again. “Do you need an incentive, angel?”

It was her turn to curl her lips, this one made it all the way into a mischievous grin. “You planning on putting on a strip show in the middle of Casalingo, Luke?” Not that she’d be opposed to it.

“No, sweetheart, I was thinking more of a share-for-share deal.” He leaned forward, his arms resting on the white tablecloth. “You share, I share. Answer a question, you get to ask me one ... and vice versa.”

So much for a light and chilled night. Things were about to get real depressing. But she knew she needed to give him something, especially after what he’d given her. The truth was, since they’d slept together, the fortress Luke had built around himself had crumbled. He wasn’t hiding. Or dodging questions. He was opening up, freely. Sharing stories from his childhood, ranging from his time in care to his favorite foster family, the Coulthards. No prompting necessary. And it was beautiful to witness.

So stop hiding from him.

Easier said than done. But seeing as one crack in the foundation wouldn’t bring down an entire wall, she decided to give it a try. After a little more liquid courage. She gave him a nod as she drained the last of her drink.

“My parents were addicts.” Another sigh left her lips. “Meth, in case you were wondering.” Luke purposely wasn’t reacting; his serious expression was firmly in place and all amusement that had been there a second ago was gone. “My childhood was pretty rough, I guess. I’m not gonna bore you with the details, but let’s just say it eventually ended in us losing our trailer ... hence the homelessness.”

“How old were you?” Okay, now he looked pissed off. And sounded like it too. What was she supposed to do with that?

Ignore it?

“Fifteen.”

“Fifth-fucking-teen?” he seethed. “And your parents? Were they right there beside you on the street?”

Bella shifted in her seat. If he was angry at that, it didn’t bode well for the rest of the story.

She shook her head before replying, preparing him for what was to come. “I don’t know where they were. They just left. Which wasn’t that unusual. I was used to them being gone for days at a time—sometimes even weeks. I was used to looking after myself, you know? And, really, it wasn’t so bad, you just had to scout out the best spots and find good restrooms to wash up in ... it could have been a lot worse ... I wasn’t even doing it for that long, not really, not compared to other people and ...” She trailed off as soon as she caught sight of Luke’s face.

Wow, he’s really red.

“Are you okay?” It was a pointless question. She asked it anyway.

“No, Bella, I’m not okay. How can you sit there and say with a straight face that living on the streets, by yourself, at fifteen ...wasn’t so bad? Do you really believe that, or are you just telling me what I want to hear?”

Am I telling him what he wants to hear? Shit. Maybe I am. Why would I do that?

He was right. It was bad. Even if it was only for a few months, it still managed to fuel a lifetime of nightmares.

“It was horrible, okay,” she rushed out. “Is that what you want to hear? I was scared shitless. All the time. There wasn’t a second that went by where I wasn’t terrified for my life or what might happen to me once the sun went down. There. I said it. But sitting here repeating some sob story doesn’t change anything, Luke. It doesn’t make it better. Or hurt any less. It’s just a reminder of my shit family. A reminder, to be quite honest with you, I don’twantorneed.”

The next thing she knew, Luke was out of his chair and pulling out hers. Taking her hand, he tugged her to her feet and wrapped his big arms around her. Until she was surrounded by him. Breathing in leather and absorbing the comfort of his steady heartbeat as she nestled her head into the crook of his neck.

“I’m sorry, angel,” he whispered into her hair. “I wish I could take it away. Make it better. Make it so it never happened.”

“But then I wouldn’t be me,” she mumbled into his crisp cotton shirt.

She felt him let out a heavy breath as his grip on her tightened. “No, sweetheart, you wouldn’t.”

“And if you didn’t have such a shitty childhood, you wouldn’t beyoueither,” she added.

She wouldn’t change one thing about him. Every sharp edge, every jagged tear, and every brick he’d surrounded his heart with, made him the man he was today. An amazing man. A real-life, firefighting hero. Who was kind. And loving. And really fucking bad at hiding the softness lurking beneath the darkness.

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