Page 17 of Cross the Line
Words ball at the back of my throat, burning through all my efforts to hold myself together. My tears come thick and fast. An unstoppable deluge that I’m too wrung out to stop.
“I know, JJ,” he croaks. Regret drags at his features when he tells me, “I’m so sorry.”
“You keep saying that.”
His jaw ticks as though he’s struggling to get a hold of his emotions, too. “I never wanted to hurt you.”
“But you have,” I say, the words cracking with the sob that rips from the pit of my stomach.
His hands grip the back of his neck, leaving his torso in open view. I can’t breathe as the conversation we had about punishment and penance bleeds to the forefront of my mind.
All the blood in my body congeals at the sight of the cuts just belowhis pits and on the inside of his biceps. There’s a fresh cut to the side of his ribs with a scab above it.
How could I not notice this until now?
How did I not know he’s been hurting this bad for so long?
Why does he do it? Why does he punish himself?
“I wish I had told you about Ryker the first time you asked who he was. But I couldn’t…” he says at the same time as I ask, “Why?”
Eli swallows and looks down at his feet. “Those photos are my literal nightmare.”
It’s not the answer I aimed for, but it hits anyway. “Is it really that bad to be who you are?”
“Those photos are not who I am, Jayden,” Eli growls as he turns and disappears into the bedroom.
I freeze, mouth open, because even if the story is garbage, pictures don’t lie. Do they?
“Get washed,” he says, appearing in the doorway while he buttons up his chinos. “I brought all your toiletries and things from your room earlier. Your body wash is already in the shower.”
Color rises high on his cheekbones as he reaches for the bathroom door.
Before he closes it, I ask, “Eli, why am I in your room?”
A half-bitten smile quirks his lips. “How much of last night do you remember?”
The softness in his tone flips my stomach. “Umm… things get blurry after I left the hotel bar.”
“Do you remember Connie going to your room?”
“I had a lot to drink at the bar downstairs before I moved on to the minibar in my room…” I glance down at my naked chest. “Did you undress me?”
“No, you ripped your shirt off and dropped your pants before you got into my bed.” His voice warms at the edges. “Don’t worry, I took the couch.”
“Why?”
“Because you were drunk.”Oh.“You also told me you hate me, so…”
“It’s not true. I don’t hate you.” I step forward; he meets me halfway.
Eli stops inches away, heat rolling off his skin. “I know.”
“So, why?—”
His palm cups my cheek, silencing me with a light rake of his thumbalong my bottom lip. It’s gentle, and it’s different. Somehow familiar, like muscle memory I didn’t know I had.
“I would never take advantage of you,” he says, frown etched deep.
