The relaxed evening transformed into a deep conversation where I ended up confessing a little more about my past. In exchange, I asked Wes for something in return. A piece of his history. He never shares, and I’ve always been okay with that until now. I want him to be a part of me. Wes’ body is tense. Stiff. That easy grin he displayed while we talked about our trips disappeared once I spoke about myself. But when I asked him for more, he became angry.

My stomach tightens because I feel like he’s pushing me away. I want to remind him that we’re best friends. He’s the person I tell everything to. In a way, he’s my human diary. I have trusted him with pieces of myself, and if this is going to work, he should trust me with the parts he hides from the world. How can we be together when he’s not willing to give as much as he asks? Then, a question pops into my head.

Would you be willing to tell him everything?

With time, I think I’ll be capable of letting him all the way in. I just need him to give me more too.

“Relationships are a two-way street, Wes,” I say, as the guy searches for the nearest exit. “Things won’t work if we settle for sharing just the beautiful and hiding the ugly. That’s not how foundations are built.”

Tension roils between us. He stares at the fire pit, breathing harshly. I drink more wine, unsure if it’s for liquid courage or wanting to do something with my hands and mouth while I wait for him to answer me. Wes is terrific, but he only gives and requests what’s convenient for him.

He wants to know everything about me, but he avoids talking about himself.

“Let’s go home,” he says, signaling to the waiter who brings the check almost immediately.

After signing the check, he looks at me thoughtfully. “After you, Abbs,” he hisses.

The nickname doesn’t make any sense with that broody face. I want to tell him that I can finish my evening whenever I want and grab an Uber once I’m done eating and drinking. I love him, but I don’t need him ordering me around or trying to define who I am.

He looks impatient and annoyed. “We have to go. This place isn’t fit for the conversation we’re having, Abigail.”

My irritation disappears and my heart pounds loudly and fast. What is it that we’re going to discuss exactly? Our relationship and how it needs adjusting, or his past?

We drive in silence, listening to instrumental jazz. In less than twenty minutes we’re back at the house. He turns off the engine and exhales harshly. We make our way to the house and without a word, he leads me toward the terrace. I lean against the railing while he walks around the perimeter like a trapped lion.

“I don’t remember much. It happened over twenty-four years ago,” he starts, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Hey, I’m with you,” I say, walking to him and interlocking my fingers with his.

I kiss his arm.

“I lived in a whorehouse.” My lungs constrict when he says that word.

“I’m not sure if my mother lived there or if she abandoned me.” He sinks into one of the lounge chairs.

“There were other kids beside me. We were everyone’s kids and no one’s responsibility. Men and women came and went through the house. We saw things that we shouldn’t have seen. They didn’t care if we were around or not. It was … bad.”

“Did anything ever happen to you?” I dare to ask, horrified of what could’ve happened to a little boy in a place like that.

He shakes his head. “I was neglected.”

“No one reported them?”

He sets his forearms on top of his thighs and stares at the horizon. “Not until one of the women died. The police came to the house, and when they left, they took us with them. After that I met Linda. I was her first foster child, and well… you know the rest.”

Wes fidgets with his fingers and remains quiet for a long time. I squat next to him and tap his arm the same way he does when I’m anxious. He looks at me and smiles.

“I had no idea what to expect from Linda and Will—or how to behave. It took years to get over the anxiety of not knowing whether the Aherns were going to kick me out or not. I couldn’t trust them, yet I wanted Linda to be near me, always. I lived in a place where there wasn’t any structure, so having some was too hard to handle at first, but I wanted to please them. I never knew who my parents were. Maybe I even lived with them, but they didn’t give a shit about me.”

He puffs some air and looks up to the ceiling. “Did they abandon me? I don’t even know. My biological mother could’ve died just like the other woman.”

Wes shivers. I stand up and rub his arms. It’s breezy but not cold. I kiss the top of his head, assuring him that he’s not alone.

“It’s a time that I don’t want to remember. It’s been a while, but the memories still hurt. I should be grateful for my parents, yet I’m stuck wondering who my real parents were. My name before I became Weston William Ahern was: Hey kid. I hate to revisit those days because honestly, there’s not much good that I can remember. Only the anxiety, desperation, and fear that I carried around for a long time. But you’re right. I need to share everything with you. The same way I’m asking you to open yourself to me and trust me with your pain.”

I gasp, my breathing becomes shallow. He’s asking for the impossible. I wouldn’t want him to learn about those dark days.

“Please,” he says softly.

“You don’t understand what you’re asking for. They’re ugly. I can’t just give them to you. What if it makes you hate me?”

“Nothing you do will make me hate you.” The conviction in his words gives me a little hope.

“You might not love the fallout from the ugliness of those months,” I insist. I’m ashamed of everything that I let happen and the guilt I carry with me.

He caresses my face with the back of his hand, kissing my temple.

“Mom once said that the broken part is where the healing begins. Your broken soul fills mine where it feels empty.”

The words are beautiful. I touch the pendant he gave me yesterday, remembering the promise that he’ll always be with me.

“You’re going to have to trust someone, and I hope you trust me.”

Fear cripples me. How much could I tell him without lying? It won’t be easy to open up to him. I should do it soon though. I’d rather tell him when I’m wide awake and not in the middle of a nightmare. What if I’m being followed and the truth comes out? He has to learn about my darkest secrets from me, not anyone else. Wes will be the first person to know my side of the story, what really happened to Ava. To me.

“Would you give me a little more time?”

“Fair enough. Just do it soon. Holding it in is destroying you.”

He has no idea. Every memory feels like a knife stabbing me over and over again while they play inside my head. Corbin and Shaun own me.

“I wish I could snuff out the power they have over me,” I confess, closing my eyes. “They took everything, and they’re still doing it.”

I feel like I’m bleeding as I recall their laughs after they hurt me.

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing,” I say regretting what I’ve already shared. “I’m fine.”

Those men shouldn’t have any power over me. I’d take it back if only I knew how to do it. Could Wes help me?

“Stop trying to hide yourself from me.” He touches the necklace. “I feel your pain, Abby—it hurts so much to witness it that it feels like my own. Each time your heart screams in fear, I can hear it—even when you’re silent.”