Page 52 of You Found Me in the Dark
“I think I’m learning to be,” I said, my voice cracking just slightly. “Some days are easier. Some aren’t. Seeing him at the party messed with my head a bit at first, but now? Honestly, you breaking his nose gave me the closure I didn’t know I needed.”
He kissed my temple again. Longer this time.
“You’re the strongest person I know, Wren,” he whispered. “And I’m so damn proud of you.”
I closed my eyes and breathed him in, letting his warmth and his words heal some broken parts of me. And for the first time in years, the dark didn’t feel so scary.
I didn’t expect Reed to open up after I did. His voice was quieter, rougher somehow, like the weight of his story was pressing on his chest with every word.
“I grew up… messy,” he said. “My mom battled a drinking addiction. She did try her hardest to get better and to fight, but those demons were a little too loud. I guess she felt they needed to be drowned out. My stepdad, Harper’s dad, was there but not really. Emotionally absent. Like a ghost in the house. He thought all he had to do as a dad was keep the lights on and food in the fridge.”
I swallowed hard. My throat tightened.
“I was sixteen when it got so much worse. I guess since I was old enough to be pretty much independent, my Mom decided it would be okay to disappear more and more into that haze. Dadhad enough. He knew no matter what he did, he couldn’t replace my dad, even though he had died when I was young. He felt he couldn’t help my mom anymore because she did not want the help. He couldn’t do it anymore. He packed up and left for good.” He looked away for a second, jaw tight. “By seventeen, I was raising myself and my eleven-year-old sister.”
I blinked back tears I didn’t even know were coming.
“My friends didn’t know any of it. Neither did Harper’s,” Reed went on. “In school, I was the ‘bad boy.’ The guy who didn’t care about anyone. It was easier that way. Kept people at arm’s length. But the truth is… I cared. Too much sometimes. I think I was just tired of being let down. When I made people important in my life, they seemed to always let me down.”
He paused, eyes tracing the stars.
“When I was eighteen, I hit a breaking point. Started drinking… the same way Mom did. I would give money to an older coworker, and they would buy it for me. Shit. Being a child while raising a child was so fucking hard and so fucking lonely. For a while, it felt like the only way to breathe.” His voice cracked a little. “I pushed away the few people who cared because I didn’t want them to see the mess I was.”
My chest ached. This wasn’t the Reed I knew or thought I knew. This was a man who carried scars deeper than any tattoo could cover.
“But I snapped out of it,” he said, voice steadying. “My sister needed me. I had to stop or I’d end up like Mom. Lost. Empty. And I came pretty close to being just like her. ”
He exhaled sharply. “I chose sobriety, and when I chose sobriety, I stopped talking to my mom. As hard as it was, she was nearly just a shell of the woman who raised us. The past still haunts me. I’m scared it’ll catch up. When shit gets tough, I’m always afraidI’ll lose control again. I have been sober for well over a decade, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
I reached over and squeezed his hand. “Thank you for telling me. You’re stronger than you think, Reed. I am so sorry you had to grow up like that. You deserved to be a kid and not have a single responsibility. I wish I could’ve been there for you. ”
He met my gaze, vulnerable and raw.
“That’s why I keep my walls up,” he confessed. “I’m terrified of being weak. Of letting someone in—and then losing myself or losing them.”
Tears slid down my cheeks. Not from pity, but from understanding. From the quiet bond forming between two broken people, learning to trust again. I wanted to tell him he wasn’t alone anymore.
But instead, I just whispered, “I’m here to stay.”
32
REED
Wren’s voice was quiet, hesitant. “Did Cam ever tell you about the night he got me out?”
I shook my head slowly. “He mentioned it… But he never really went into the details.”
She took a breath like it hurt, and then she began.
“The night I stopped pretending Dad loved me, the silence in the house was louder than any screaming he’d ever done.”
My gut twisted. I could picture it—could hear the echo of boots across cheap flooring, doors slamming like gunshots.
“I was sitting on my bedroom floor,” she continued. “The only light was from my laptop. I was listening to music through my headphones, trying to drown everything out.”
She paused. I felt her breath falter against my chest.
“He threw a plate at me that night. Blamed me for Mom leaving. Called me ‘too much’ and ‘not enough’ in the same breath. Said I’d never be anything. Never be enough.”
