Page 81 of The Villain

Was it being back at Mom’s house?But I’d been here for months.Was it because of Brandon? Losing another man who promised to love me…but didn’t?

Or was it because I was afraid of losing this man?Dare.A man I hadn’t seen but knew his scarred face better than I knew my own. Was it because I was afraid of losing one more person I cared for without understanding why?

I swallowed down those thoughts, and instead, shared a different memory.

“I used to sit on the counter while my mom cleaned the kitchen floors every week. She’d band towels around her feet, step in a bucket of soapy water, and then shuffle themover the floor.

“And then you’d do the same to dry.”

My breath caught as my heart faltered. “How did you know?”

He hesitated. “Lucky guess.”

The toaster dinged. A few seconds later, I bit back a smile at his low curse of pain.He’d tried to grab the molten sandwich with his bare hands.

“Tell me a story about your friend,” I murmured as he moved in front of me, his chest brushing my knees.

A deep noise groused from his chest, and I could practically hear the muscle of his jaw locking as he reached for my hand. But he had no choice; it was the only way to give me my food.

“Eat,” he instructed as he stepped back as I brought the sandwich to my mouth.

I shivered as I inhaled a deep breath of the warm, cheesy goodness. Scent and taste went into overdrive as I took the first bite, the taste so familiar it was like my tongue was set on a memory.

“Dammit.” His angry curse brought me back to the moment.

I swallowed the bite and asked, “Are you okay?”Had I been moaning?

“Yeah.”

I took my second bite more carefully, opting for a straightforward compliment this time. “This is amazing. Thank you.”

He grunted, “You’re welcome.”

Another few seconds passed, and I found myself returning to the question he’d left unanswered—wanting him to trust me with a little more of the good now that he’d laid out the whole of the bad.

“My mom had cancer—died of cancer. I knew it was coming; we both did. I thought knowing…would make me ready for it.” I sighed. “It didn’t.”

“I’m sorry, Athena.”

I took another bite, and when I finished, I said, “When it got close to the end, I was…a mess, but my mom, she had this way of making painful things bearable. Even little things like…”

“Cleaning the kitchen floors?”

A laugh bubbled through my lips. “Yeah, like that. I swear she could turn anything for good.” My inhale was cut short by the brush of his thumb on my cheek; I didn’t realize I was crying.

“That sounds like…quite a superpower.”

“She was quite a superhero,” I returned softly, taking another bite as I fought the urge to cry. “At the end, I begged her not to leave me, and she told me that everyone dies twice.”

“Twice?” He drew his hand back.

“The first time is when our life ends, and the second…is when people stop sharing our stories.”

His chest inflated sharply, loading oxygen into its chambers and waiting to fire.But would the sound be of defense or of surrender?

“Ryan loved karaoke. Our buddy, Rhys, would strike up a tune, and he’d sing at the top of his lungs even though his voice was terrible,” he said, his low chuckle accompanying my own laugh. “And motorcycles. Anything fast and dangerous, really. It was all he talked about while we were away—coming home to buy a damn bike.”

“Did he convince you to get one?”

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