I cut off her question with a quick kiss. “I’m fine, Kiera, I just didn’t expect…That was very kind. Thank you.” I tried to keep my expression warm and loving, only appropriately emotional, but I could tell from the crystalline glossiness in her eyes, that she could see my pain, my loneliness…my grief.

“I hate what they did to you,” she murmured under her breath, below what she thought I could hear. I knew exactly what she meant, exactly who she was talking about…I hated what they did to me too.

The pain amplified, like a punch to the gut, but still, I kept my expression neutral. “I’m fine, Kiera,” I reiterated, trying to soothe the sudden anger in her eyes. I think if my parents were still alive, Kiera would scream at them every day for how they’d treated me. Not that I’d let her near them—I wouldn’t allow those bastards to turn their vitriol on her.

Kiera shook her head as she stared at me. “You always tell me you’re fine…but there’s still so much pain.” Her voice hitched, and the wetness in her eyes grew heavier. “Have you ever thought about talking to someone? A professional?”

Rolling onto my back, I stared at the ceiling. “You want me to see a shrink? You think I’m…broken?” My voice had a harsh edge to it. I didn’t want it to come out that way, but I couldn’t keep the heat out. I really didn’t like the idea of Kiera seeing me as damaged goods. Even if that was exactly what I was.

She instantly popped up on her elbow and hovered over me. “No, I don’t. You’ve endured so much, but you’re still such a good man…” I had to cringe away from that comment. There were many people on this earth—my ex-best friend among them—who thought I was anything but a good person.

Seeing me flinch, Kiera continued her thought. “You’re a survivor, Kellan. But being a survivor doesn’t mean you have to keep everything to yourself. Talking to someone might ease the pain. Don’t you want that?”

An instant objection on my lips, I looked over at her. The words died as I stared at her perfect face, at the depth of love and caring etched in every line, every curve. She was trying to help me, I knew that. But my parents were gone, and as far as I was concerned, all the horrible things they’d done to me had died with them. There was no need to refresh the memories by talking about them. Whenever I accidentally did, it only made everything hurt again. Nothing eased that pain, and nothing ever would. Except her.

“What I want…is you,” I told her. Then I reached up and pulled her mouth to mine.