Page 29 of The Sculptor

Ignoring his lie, I turn and push him toward the bed. His legs hit the back of the mattress, and he plops down unceremoniously. “Your eyes say otherwise.” I step between his legs and cup his face, stroking along his cheeks, feeling the day-old stubble.

His head leans into my touch as his eyes drift close. “I can’t sleep—not since seeing you with him.”

My heart—at least what is left of it—aches. “I’m not marrying Langston to hurt you. The last thing I want to do is cause you more pain.”

He chuckles, his head dropping to my stomach while his arms loop around me in some half hug, which I return by rubbing my hands down his back. “You being away causes me pain. You being with him brings back the screams.”

My hands still along his tense muscles, but he doesn’t seem to notice. He simply continues confessing in the darkness.

“It took me years to quiet them, but one look at the pain in your face as he shamed your body, and it brought them all back.” He pulls me closer, burying his face in my stomach. “You screaming and me helpless to stop it.”

I don’t know when I started crying, but the tears dripping onto his shirt are hard to hide.

“I want to stop the screaming, Ray,” he mumbles. “I don’t want to feel helpless again. I don’t want to sit by and watch you marry Langston when I know you loathe him.”

I rein in the tears and smooth a hand down his back. “You’re not helpless, Potter. You never have been. This isn’t the same as before.”

Lifting his head from my stomach, I wait until he opens his eyes. “I’m stronger than before.” I smooth the stress lines along his forehead. “This time, I can help you fight our battles. I just need you to trust me.”

I offer him a smile that only makes his jaw clench while he struggles to keep his eyes open. “I don’t want to trust you. I want to hold you until the screaming stops.”

For years, I haven’t broken, not since before.

But I break for this man—this beautifully strong man clutching me against him in a silent plea.

I break because I owe him.

I break because I love him.

He might think he was helpless while I screamed years ago, but his silent strength, his unwavering promise, held me together.

I might have broken that winter, but I took his hand and stood.

I stood afraid.

I stood broken.

But I stood.

And there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for the man who reached out and pulled me up in my darkest hour.

Cradling his cheeks, I lean in and kiss his forehead. “Close your eyes,” I prompt, dropping my hands and allowing them to graze his shirt until I reach the bottom.

“What are you doing?” His eyes are wide open and much more alert than they should be.

“Close your eyes, Duke,” I tell him again. “And let me make the screaming stop.”

His hands close over mine. “No. I won’t taint your morals, even if I don’t believe you love Langston.”

I can’t smother the laugh that bursts out of me. “While I appreciate you saving me from myself, I don’t plan on tainting my morals, as you call it.”

He blinks slowly. “I don’t understand.”

His confusion is adorable. “I’m not sleeping with you,” I tell him—though I leave out the part I want to. “I’m letting you hold me until the screaming stops.” For both of us.

I test his willingness again and tug on his shirt. This time, he doesn’t stop me. Instead, he holds my gaze and raises his arms above his head while I slip the fabric from his body, revealing a chest that has only been sculpted over the years. This is not the same body I drew at eighteen. Oh, no, this one is full of hills of muscle and valleys of tanned skin. This is the body of a man who knows no lazy days.

“You keep looking at me like that, Ray, and we’re gonna have a problem keeping those morals of yours intact.”

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