"But we were… I was naked."
"Yes. You were naked."
A laugh spills from my lips. "So you wouldn't be looking here?"
He nods.
"I-I didn't know when to tell you. If I should tell you. It doesn't feel fair, to know everything about your scars when you know nothing about mine."
"Did you stop?"
"Mostly."
"Mostly?"
"When I started taking self-portraits. They helped me channel my feelings. Take control."
"But only mostly?"
"A few times. When things were too hard and I was too tired to fight the temptation." I push my watch aside. Run my fingers over the raised marks on my inner wrist. They're harsher, deeper, fresher.
Adam wraps his fingers around my wrist.
Not the way he did before. All softness.
He runs his thumb over a faded scar. Then a fresh one. "This is deep."
"I know."
"You can hurt yourself."
"That's the point."
"Danielle—"
"I know. I'm careful."
His eyes turn down.
"I was careful. I haven't… I haven't since Christmas."
"That was six weeks ago."
"I know," I admit. "I'm not making excuses. I just…"
"No. Don't apologize for explaining yourself."
"You look terrified."
"I am." He intertwines his fingers with mine. "I can't bear the thought of losing you."
"I… me either."
"Are you okay?"
"Am I okay?"
"It's a simple question."
Is it? It feels hopelessly complicated. "I don't know."
He nods. Runs his thumb over the raised scar on my wrist. "Christmas?"
"It was too much. Without Mom. With the mounting bills. With Remy worried about school."
"Danielle—"
"Don't. I appreciate the impulse, Adam. I do. I want to protect you too." I bring my hand to his cheek. Run my fingers over the scar on his cheek.
He doesn't flinch. He leans into the gesture.
"But this is my issue. My burden to carry."
"No."
"No?"
"You asked me not to lock you out," he says. "I'm asking the same."
Fuck. I can't really argue with my own request.
"What did you say? You can tell me to fuck off. You can tell me if I'm overstepping. But don't hide from me. Don't lock yourself away. Don't try to shoulder everything on your own."
I blink and a tear catches on my lashes.
"Angel—" He wipes my tear with his thumb.
"You're not mad?"
"Why would I be mad?"
"I don't know. Remy was mad. And I… I will try. But this is mine, Adam. My problem to solve. Not yours. You can be there, you can listen, you can even step in and tell me I need to get help. But you aren't my shrink. And you can't play my shrink."
"Are you seeing someone?"
"For a little while. But it was too hard. The timing, the fee. I…"
"Will you start?"
"Your house is in the middle of nowhere."
"And I have three cars."
"That's true." I blink, and another tear catches on my lashes. "I… I don't know what to say."
"We can make a deal."
"Sex for therapy? That doesn't sound healthy."
"No." He cups my cheek with his palm. "I'll go if you go."
"Therapy for therapy?"
He nods.
"You're not already?"
"I was. For the first few months. But I wasn't interested in feeling better."
"Only in drowning in self-loathing?"
"Yes." He states it so plainly. And without shame too.
How does he do that?
He keeps proving it again and again.
Adam Pierce is the strongest person I've ever met.
"But you want to get past it now?" I ask.
He nods.
"This a very strange romantic gesture."
He pulls me into his lap.
"But it's perfect too."
"It is." He presses his lips to mine.
I dissolve into him. Body, heart, soul.
Every broken piece of me claiming every broken piece of him.
Love.
It's obvious.
I love him.
I don't know what that means or where to put it.
But I don't want to run from it.
I want to feel every fucking second.
Even if it kills me.
Chapter Forty
Adam
Sunday night, Danielle asks me to stay in the apartment. She needs to finish preparing for the show and it's easier, here, sixty blocks away.
She wants me to stay with her.
At first, I say no. I'm not sure how I'll survive a week here. It's one thing when she's next to me, filling the space with her laugh, her smile, her groan.
When it's me and the memories threatening to consume me?
That's harder.
But when I wake next to her, I can't bear the thought of leaving. I'd rather face the emptiness here than the ache I feel without her.
Is that love?
I don't know. I only know that I need her. I need her in a way I've never needed anyone.
The week passes more quickly than I expect. Pierce is launching our new privacy suite. I'm busy. And Danielle is working morning to night.
The night before the show, she takes me to the studio after closing.
She puts her hands over my eyes, guides me to the right spot, says, "Okay, now," and pulls her hands away.
There it is.
A story in five images.
Anticipation. Tease. Release.
Sensual photos, erotica even, but not explicit.
Sexy enough, every man in the city will want her.
Every person who sees them will wonder.
Is that really Adam Pierce?
Will they say it with surprise? Disgust? Envy?