Renzo’s story left Low speechless. Of all the things he imagined about Renzo Vega, nothing came close to what he’d just heard. His heart broke for that little boy and anger tightened his spine at the betrayal he must have felt when his fellow captive stabbed him.

But he was a survivor, wasn’t he? Here in Low’s arms, when everything had been stacked against him making it out alive.

He kissed those scars all over again, treating them with the reverence they deserved now that he knew the story behind them. With each press of his lips, Renzo clutched Low’s nape tighter, trembling.

An imperfect man, perfect for Low. He wanted to know how his lover became Big Bad Renzo Vega, but sensed now wasn’t the time to ask. He made his way up Renzo’s body and gave him his lips. Moaning when Renzo opened wide and tongued him down.

He always kissed so desperately, like a kid afraid his dessert would get snatched away. Consuming Low with his full focus and the carnal tangling of their tongues. He burned, his chest, his body. He burned breathlessly, wanting again.

Always needing.

He tamped down on that, though. Renzo opened to him, the least Low could do was reciprocate. “I thought my life was fucked up.” He pulled away, flashing Renzo an apologetic smile. “Yours take the cake.”

“It’s not a contest.” Renzo cupped his jaw. “It is not a contest, Low. My story doesn’t make yours any less valid, or painful. We just had different experiences.”

You could say that again. He put his head on Renzo’s shoulder, sighing softly when his lover’s arm wrapped around his middle, holding him close. “I’m not out to my family.”

When Renzo lifted an eyebrow, Low told him about growing up with his siblings in Grenada, abandoned by their mother and raised by their grandmother. He shared his experiences and the first time he realized he liked boys instead of girls. Moving to the States to be with his father. The burden of pretending, he told Renzo that too.

The death of his father, he shared that as well.

“My mother’s friend showed up at my dad’s funeral,” he said. “My sister got up to read a poem at the podium, spotted him, and started screaming. Just…screaming.” His throat tightened. “We found out then what he’d done to her, stolen her innocence right under our noses. He was smiling in our faces, Renzo, pretending to be an uncle to us, and raping my sister. My best friend.”

“I’m sorry,” Renzo murmured.

Low barely heard him over the rush of anger deafening him. He wasn’t over that betrayal. And if he wasn’t, there was no way Ronna would ever be. “She’s agoraphobic,” he whispered. “Scared to leave her house, scared people are waiting out there to violate her all over again. She has a son.”

His heart got so full every time he thought of Amir. “Immediate family only are allowed to see and interact with him. Couple times a month I get him. We go to the movies, the park, wherever he wants to go.” He paused, exhaling heavily. “Ronna lumps anyone queer into the same garbage heap as child molesters.”

“Fuck.” That bitten out curse was loaded with understanding.

Low nodded. “Yes.” Echoes of their last phone conversation refused to leave his brain. “She’s the only one of my siblings I’m close to. I see her name on my caller ID and I smile. No matter what, I smile.” He gripped Renzo’s forearm, lifting his head to peer into Renzo’s beautiful eyes. “I think of her and I’m so happy.” He touched his chest. “I love her,” he whispered. “I love her and I’m afraid to show her my true self. I’m afraid to lose her. To lose access to my nephew.”

“Shh.” Renzo kissed his cheek. “I get it.” He smoothed a hand over Low’s head. “I understand.”

He just might. “I try to make her see how wrong her generalizations are. Sometimes I think she gets it, but most times I don’t think she does.” He wiped his eyes. “I feel guilty that we were so close, she was my best friend, and I didn’t see what that son of a bitch was doing to her.”

“No.” Grabbing hold of his shoulders, Renzo shook him once. “You don’t blame yourself. Low, come on. It’s not your fault.”

He barked a sorrowful laugh. “I know that. I know that. But I still keep quiet when my sister compares me to a pedophile. I still keep my mouth shut when she asks why I don’t have a woman yet.” He pursed his lips. “I fucking know you’re not the closet type. I know you will never hide who you are.”

Renzo’s eyes flashed dark for a second as Low stroked his face.

“I want to share you.” The silver stubble along Renzo’s jaw pricked Low’s fingertips. “You make me happy.” So much it was becoming harder and harder to hide. He flung his arms around Renzo, pressing kisses to his neck and throat. “Thank you.”

Renzo chuckled. “For what?”

Low sat astride him, hands cupping the back of Renzo’s neck. “For sharing yourself with me. Thank you for being who you are.”

“I’ll be whoever you want me to be.” He looked so solemn, almost contemplative.

“Be Renzo,” Low told him. “Please.” A man he could love. Someone he could be proud to claim as his. He had to find a way to keep this and his family, but something in the back of his head whispered the only way for that to happen was to do away with the pretense.

He kissed Renzo, letting the heat his lover generated burn that tiny voice into submission.