Page 112 of Reverie

I take my time before looking at him.

He sits, completely casual, with his ankles and arms crossed.

It doesn’t matter that it’s midnight and the mosquitos must be eating him alive as they’re doing to me.

He’s there. Waiting. Patient.

Being a good friend.

“Why are you always there for me, Leo?”

He quirks his eyebrow. “What do you mean? Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Yes, but…” I clear my throat and take another sip. “You’ve gone beyond what a friend would do. You’ve done so much for me so that I didn’t have to face most of the horrible shit alone. But what I don’t get is why?”

Leo tilts his head to the side, analyzing me. With a big breath, he says, “I’m there for you because you’re my family, Hunter. And I love you like a brother.”

The words are gruff, as if he’s uncomfortable saying them.

I don’t reply, I just take time to stew in my thoughts.

“You’re worth being there for, Hunter. I know you don’t think that you are, but you matter to a lot of people, including me.”

When I stare at him for a long moment, Leo sighs and claps his hands once.

“Well, if this isn’t turning into a goddamn Hallmark Christmas movie,” he grumbles.

I release a puff of air, a breath of humor.

His face turns serious.

“I’ll ask you this and I need you to answer me clearly. Is Winter safe with you?”

His gaze is unwavering, and I feel the weight of his judgment in it.

“I…” I open my mouth to say the words that I’d never hurt Winter. That I love Winter and she’s as vital to me as oxygen is.

But I can’t say that. Because it’s not true—at least, the part that I would never hurt Winter.

Because I just fucking did.

“There’s no excuse for what I did, Leo. We were in the shower, and I got…rough.”

His look hardens even more.

“I took it too far,” I say, my voice a whisper.

He’s silent for a beat, but when I look at him again, he says, “She’s pregnant with your child.”

“I know.”

“You put a collar of bruises around her neck.”

I jolt. “I know.”

“Why did you do that?”

“I don’t know!” I snap, standing, and I walk over to the entrance of the gazebo, plunging my hands through my hair, gripping at the roots.