“But we’re still the same people, Becs.”

I don’t know if I agree with him, but still, I say, “And you think it’s enough?”

He stares at me a long moment, his eyes narrowing more with each passing second. “What are we even talking about right now?”

“Nothing,” I type quickly.

“Bullshit nothing.” Josh pushes off the desk and squats in front of me. His eyes search mine, worried and confused. “What’s going on? You overwhelmed or something?”

I shake my head and after a loud exhale, I type, “I get that this is your job. Your passion. And I know I’m being petty, but I just didn’t expect all these girls around you all the time.”

He sighs, frustrated, but not at all surprised by my admission. “That’s what this is about?” he says, standing quickly. He begins to pace, his hands locked behind his head. “We have two days together. This is our last night and you want to do this now?”

“I told you it was petty!” Cordy says. I wish she came with more than just a play button. Like a whiny shout one.

He stops pacing and turns to me. Shaking his head, he says, “It’s just kind of rich that you’re the one bringing this up. Especially when I’ve been faithful to you when you weren’t even mine. When there was no faith left at your end and you moved on with that other guy—”

“Aaron,” I whisper. I don’t know why I say it. Why out of all the things I could possible say it’s that.

He tenses, his breath catching before his eyes drift shut and his fists clench. “I know his name. I just don’t want to say it.” He goes back to moving, pacing back and forth, all while I stay silent, my heart aching.

Sinking.

Breaking.

Josh rubs the back of his neck. “This is so dumb,” he mumbles, turning away from me and toward the bathroom. “I’m going to shower.” He removes his shirt, revealing the onset of bruises and scrapes on his back from today’s skate session. I’d seen him fall too many times to count, and he’d seemed momentarily frustrated, angry with himself, but he never once showed any sign of pain.

I stand quickly, drawn to him, my fingers reaching his back before the rest of me does.

He freezes in his spot, his shoulders sagging when my hand flattens on the sores. “It’s nothing,” he whispers.

After moving past him, I start to run the water in the oversized tub while he leans on the doorframe.

He watches me.

I watch the water.

We don’t speak. Not when I turn the water off. Not when he strips naked and gets in the tub, then motions for me to join him. Not even when I sit opposite him, my soapy hands running slowly over the dark spots on his shoulders.

I wish I could take it back. Wish I’d never said anything. Because now the mood’s turned dark, dull, taking away the shine from the rest of the time we’ve spent together. I run my finger over a scar on his right shoulder and finally make eye contact with him.

He swallows loudly. Then explains, his voice low, “I dislocated it one too many times. I had to have pins put in.”

I nod while my hand moves down to his elbow and I thumb the long scar I noticed while I was with him over winter break. “Last broken elbow. Bone popped out.” His eyes are sad, just like mine. He lifts his hand, making the water cascade around us. “I have more scars than skin,” he says, his lips curling at the corners. He reaches up, his thumb skimming the scar on my collarbone.

I freeze momentarily, my mind clouded by darkness.

At some point, I’ve expected him to ask about them, and I knew that I’d have to confront my past, but I also knew that no matter how much I thought about it, how many times I’ve played out this moment in my mind, I’d never be prepared. Never.

Josh presses his lips gently over the tough skin before pulling back and looking at me. First my eyes, then my lips, then down to my hands. His voice shakes when he asks, “You feel like sharing stories?”

I hesitate a beat, then dry my hands on a towel and reach for my phone on the counter. Josh pulls me closer to him, his hands on my hips and my legs wrapped around him until there’s nothing left between us. “Are you sure?” Cordy asks for me.

He lifts his gaze. “Only if you are.”

We take a moment, my pulse quickening and my mind racing while the air turns thick.

“It’s going to hurt,” I warn him. “It’ll probably hurt you to hear as much as it’ll hurt me to tell you.”

“If you don’t want to—”

“It happened when I was nine,” I cut in. “My mother was in a mood. More like a rage. She was cutting my hair and the end of the scissors dug right in.” I hold my head high, years of therapy helping to convince me that it’s not my shame to carry.

Josh blows out a breath, my hair shifting with the force of it. Then he swallows loudly, his fingers moving up the middle of my back. I know what he’s aiming for, and I’m not at all surprised he knows it’s there. Like I said, he knows my body better than anyone. Better than myself. But he’s never asked before, and he’s asking now.

He taps the small lumps of skin between my shoulder blades. “Are these…” He can’t even get the words out, so I do it for him.

“Cigarette burns. I was fourteen. She found out I had a boyfriend. The burns hurt as much as her knee pressed on my back.” A sob fills my throat as I watch his eyes, my pain mirrored behind his tears, his ache as strong as mine. His jaw tenses, fighting against the fear, the anger I can see building inside him. I capture this moment, my gaze locked on his, and I memorize it, store it, treasure it as the first time in my life I’d felt a love greater than my own.

I wipe at my cheek as Josh’s lips move to beneath my left eye, kissing the scar there. “And this one?”

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

“We can stop,” he rushes out. “If you can’t…”

After a shaky exhale, I type, “She hit me with a pan, right before she dragged me by my hair, kicking, screaming and bleeding, toward her car. It happened just before the accident.”

He nods slowly, his glassy eyes never leaving mine. Then he kisses me, slow and soft, right on the long diagonal scar on the side of my neck. The scar that hurt the most. Not physically, but because of why it’s there. Josh’s voice cracks when he says, “I assumed it was from the seat belt in the accident, but then I found out you weren’t wearing one so…”

I lick my lips, my mouth dry, and I can feel my pulse in my thumb, reminding me of its existence, of its need to be between my teeth so I can let the physical pain overpower the emotional one. I fight the urge, and instead, I use it to type: “It was from the accident. But not the seatbelt. She had a knife. She held it there.”

His eyes charge with rage, with hate, with all the things I’ve tried to feel toward the person who created the scars.

“She was dead a few minutes later,” I tell him, like it somehow makes up for her actions.

Minutes pass while silence descends and I wait for him to say something. Anything. When he finally finds his voice, the words he chooses surprises me. “Is she on your list of fears?”

Josh pulls me closer when my eyes widen in shock, his arms wrapping tight around me. “Your dad told me about it. I’m sorry. I didn’t know if it was a huge secret or something. I just know that I was on it, and I mean, it has to be working for you… you conquered me, right?” His lips curve into a smile.