I recognized the signs. Distraction. Smoothing things over. A more cheerful tone. Bullshitology 101, and I’d become damned good at it.

Feeling a pang in my chest, I said, “Look, full transparency? You’re full of shit.”

His head whipped back to mine, just for a second before returning to the road.

I didn’t touch his hand, and he didn’t move it away.

“You pushed through my walls. You dug inside when I didn’t want to talk, and then you poured out your baggage. We chose to be more than friends. That means real conversations like this.”

My chest tightened as I flashed back to Damian’s temper. My teeth began to grind together. “I won’t be anything with a guy unless he gives as much as I do. That’s my rule. And yeah, that’s friendship too, I guess, but most definitely a guy I’m fucking. You open up, at least a little, and we’re good. I opened up last time. Remember?”

Damian would’ve turned the tables, made me the bad guy for pushing. He’d be the victim… I felt like a rock, entirely on edge as I waited for Reese to blast me. My eyes were closed, my nails digging in my jeans when he let out a soft curse.

His hand took mine, tugging it to his lap. “Fuck. Is that what he did to you?”

“What?” My voice had gone hoarse.

“I was a dick, and a second later your entire body froze up. You said your piece, and now it’s like you’re expecting me to start beating you or something.”

He was right.

I knew he was right. I had thought it too, prepared for it, but hearing it come out of someone else, that was different. The impact was smack in the middle of my chest.

“I…”

“Did he?” His question was biting.

I flinched.

“Hey.” His hand squeezed mine, let go, squeezed again. Over and over. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that the way it came out. Just…” He was fighting for control. “You’re right. You’re completely right, and I was being an asshole. You called me out on it, and I like that you did that. But…fuck. Did he hurt you because you did that to him?”

Tears dripped down my cheeks.

I was really sick of feeling this way.

“He didn’t physically hurt me, but yes. I’d call him on things, and he’d twist it. I was always the wrong one, until I just stopped talking.”

He wore me down. That was the truth, and that gaping hole was back inside of me.

I tugged my hand away, turned to the window, and pulled my feet up on the seat—folding in on myself, my go-to. If I could’ve gone into a fetal position, I would’ve.