“That’s…romantic…I guess?”
“Abbott had a second bed put in her room, so they’re together. Boaz is, however, cuffed to his bedrail to prevent another assault on the staff.” Linus tapped his fingers on his knee. “He must have put up more resistance than the others. He was pumped full of drugs, a lethal amount, and his progress has been slower.” He stilled his drumming. “Honestly, I’m not sure how he survived as long as he did with that particular cocktail in his system. If you hadn’t found him when you did, he would have died. I doubt he would have lived the day.”
A cold lump hardened in my gut, and I wet my lips. “He’s going to be okay, though, right?”
“Grier has been working on him.” He smiled tightly. “He’s in very capable hands.”
“That’s good.” I twisted the sheet into knots. “How is Mr. Whitaker?”
“He’s in a medically induced coma. He didn’t handle withdrawal from his drug of choice well. He inflicted a lot of damage on himself, so he’s restrained. The drugs he was given interacted with ones already in his system, but we expect him to make a full recovery.”
“I knew he drank, but I had no idea he used anything harder.”
“Adelaide was also unaware he had developed other tastes, but she says it explains where some of their money has gone. She plans to check him into rehab once he’s stable enough for transfer.”
“If you see her before I do, tell her not to worry about the cost. I’ll pay for it. All of it.”
“I’ll do that.” A deep line furrowed his brow. “Matron Pritchard is also in good health.”
“Good,” I said sharply, and wished I had taken time to dull the edge first. “I’m glad everyone is okay.”
“Your mate is pacing a hole in the floor.” He rose and patted my hand. “I’ll leave you to it.”
Linus nodded to Midas in passing, but I don’t think Midas noticed with his entire being focused on me.
It didn’t bode well that Midas shut the door behind him to keep us from being overheard by the others. I had an idea of where this conversation was heading, and I would rather sew my mouth together without anesthesia than talk about this. But the feral cat was out of the bag now.
The mattress dipped when he sat beside me. “Do you want to talk about Liz’s allegations?”
“No.”
Taking my hand, he toyed with my fingers. “Any idea how to locate her?”
“You would really let it go, just like that?”
“Do you know how long it took me to work up the courage to share what happened to me in Faerie?” He let that sink in. “Do you know how long after I told Mom and Lethe I held it all in until I told you?” He cut me off before I could answer. “You’re young, Hadley. It’s okay if you haven’t made peace with your past. We have the rest of our lives for you to decide what you do and don’t want me to know.”
“Except now I’ll be paranoid every time I’m naked in front of you that you’re staring at them. The scars.”
“You don’t gawk at mine.” He rubbed a hand down one crosshatched forearm. “Why would I fixate on yours?”
“You heard what she said,” I whispered. “You know how I got them.”
Honest confusion tugged his lips down. “What’s your point?”
“You’ve dedicated yourself to empowering women who have suffered abuse.” I hadn’t consciously had a clue I felt this way about us until it popped out of my mouth. “What if that’s what attracted you to me?”
“You’re not wearing a scarlet letter, Hadley. You don’t telegraph your abuse simply by existing. You fight against your perception of yourself, against her perception of you, every day. It’s only natural you would think others see the conflict in you, but they don’t, I promise you that.”
“You did.” I had been too flighty around him at first, too nervous he would unmask me. “Quickly too.”
“Did I wonder at times? Yes. I’ve been around enough survivors to recognize the symptoms, and you evidenced several of them. I had no idea it was your mother, or what she did to you.” He laughed harshly, but it was self-directed. “I thought a boyfriend might have done it.”
Scrunching up my face, I asked, “Why is that funny?”
“Abuse colors the world survivors live in, and I chalked up your problems to my issues.” He hesitated as I studied him. “I laughed at the reminder of how twisted up we all get in our own heads, in our own pasts. We view everyone else through the clouded lens of our own life experience. That’s how assumptions get made, and they’re generally wrong. We apply our experiences to others in an effort to understand them and their motivations, but we rarely get it right.”
“Liz said something…”
“…designed to get under your skin.”
“I was happy to take it slow, physically, with you.” I wasn’t sure how to fit the rest of the words in my mouth without choking on them. “You were working through some stuff, and I didn’t want to pressure you.” He looked at his hands, his features unreadable. “I put it all on you. In my head, I mean. I convinced myself I was content waiting for your benefit.”
“You think you were subconsciously avoiding sex with me to avoid a conversation on your scars.”
“I’ve never dated anyone who mattered. I’ve never cared what the guys I was with thought of me. I had plans. I had school. Dreams. Guys were warm bodies when I felt like having dinner out or watching a movie or…that.” A slow burn moved through my cheeks. “But you matter. I care very much, maybe too much, what you think of me. I still have plans. I still have dreams. They just all include you now.”
“You can’t believe it would make any difference to me.”
“We’re all twisted up in our own heads, our own pasts,” I quoted back to him. “What do you think?”
“I want
