“So here I’m dating a guy who’s beating the shit out of me, the exact thing my parents warned me about, and I couldn’t tell them because it would be one more thing to reinforce what they wanted. And the worst part is that I started to believe I deserved it. Or that it was normal. That it was something all gay relationships went through. Like aggression is just part of the package or something. Besides—what was I supposed to do? Complain that another guy was beating me up? Do you know what that sounds like?”

Nick knew exactly what that sounded like. “You’re not weak,” he said.

“Oh, I was. This went on for a long time. I never knew what would set him off. Some days he was wonderful, and I’d think it was all in my head. He would cry and tell me how he wanted so badly to be better. Other days he was . . . terrifying. I told him I didn’t want to see him anymore, and he said he’d tell everyone that I was sexually harassing him, that I was some kind of deviant, that I shouldn’t be allowed to work with kids. I loved my job. I didn’t know what to do.” Adam looked up. His eyes were shining, but he wasn’t crying. “He was smart, too. He knew how to hit where it wouldn’t show. I’d be too sore to dance, but there wouldn’t be a mark on me. I remember once I threw up blood, and I wanted to go to the hospital. He said he’d tell them I had HIV. I don’t—I’ve never—I . . . My dad would have found out, and I couldn’t—”

He broke off. His hand was tight on Nick’s. He took a long breath, steadying himself. “I couldn’t go. After that, I was scared to tell anyone anything. For three months. Then he was offered a job somewhere else, and he moved. That was it. I didn’t even solve my own problem. It just went away.”

Nick moved closer, breathing along Adam’s neck. “I’m sorry,” he said. He touched Adam’s face again. “I’m sorry.”

“It was a long time ago. I’ve never told anyone.” But his voice was still heavy. He brushed Nick’s hand away and started to put some distance between them. “I can’t believe I told you.”

Nick caught him with a hand against his neck, but gently, so Adam could move if he really wanted to. “I won’t hurt you.” When Adam didn’t resist, Nick stroked his thumb along his jaw and put his forehead against his temple. The waitress could probably see them, but he couldn’t make himself care, not now. “I understand now. I won’t hurt you.”