I inhale deeply. Coffee and paper and what I’ve come to think of as home. We’re the same height in this position and he completely fills my line of vision. And I don’t want him to move. It’s suddenly imperative he remain right where he is, as if he’s the only thing holding me together. So I start talking.

“My dad is a narcissist. And not the kind who thinks he’s a hotshot or whatever. Like the actual clinical, sociopathic definition of the word.” For a second, I focus on Jack’s eyes, watching as they darken to a deep emerald, but then the emotion in them overwhelms me and I let my gaze drift down to his chest, to the dragon crest printed on his soft cotton T-shirt. “He was pretty abusive, emotionally and verbally. Liked to call me stupid if I brought home an A minus, tell me how dumb and petty my feelings were when I would tell a story, that kind of thing.” I give him the least of it, because I can’t bring myself to say the rest out loud. “I actually stopped talking at home for a while, believe it or not. I couldn’t ever seem to find the right words, the magic words that would make him happy, so I stopped trying.” Huh. I never really made the connection until now. I went from being afraid to open my mouth to never shutting up, a trait that really only kicked in once I became friends with Harley, Nick, and Gemma in college.

“And your mom?” Jack’s voice is low, rumbly with suppressed anger.

“She got it just as badly as I did.” I shrug it off. “I don’t blame her. Not anymore.”

“You should. She should’ve protected you.” Jack’s grip on the counter tightens, those beautiful fingers turning white with tension.

“She did her best. She’s as much a victim as I was.” It took me a long time to get to that place with my mom. In my head, I mean, since I haven’t ever shared this with her, since it would involve talking to her, and that’s not a thing I do. But holding on to all that anger wasn’t good for me (yay for college mental health services!), and I had to let some of it go before it ate me up inside. “Besides, it’s all in the past now. I left California right after high school graduation. Moved to New York, and I haven’t been back since. No lasting harm done.”

“Except for the lasting harm that prevents you from seeing how amazing you are.”

I open my mouth to argue with him, but he places a single finger there, and the brush of his skin on my lips is enough to stop the words in their tracks.