He laced our fingers, and I swallowed.
“Please tell me?” I asked, because I did want to know. I wanted to know everything. Everything about him he could give. I hugged him. “I want to know.”
And so, he did.
He told me details about him and his mother, the argument, of course, but something else too. He told me about his father, and something Evie had never shared. I’d never pressed her about it. I mean, people got divorced every day.
But this?
“My father is in prison for covering up a murder,” he said, tugging my arms in like he was holding me and not the other way around. Like it wasn’t him who needed the security, the warmth and love. He wet his lips. “The murder of my best friend’s sister. December’s sister.”
My God.
“It happened in high school,” he said, nodding. “And I left this town. Haven’t seen my father in years.”
He went on to say it’d been his uncle to commit the murder, Ramses’s old headmaster from his school, and the story surrounding was like something off of Dateline.
As well as the stuff of nightmares.
It was Ramses’s nightmare in real life, December’s nightmare. They’d come into each other’s lives because of all that had happened.
They’d somehow become best friends.
They had such a deep history, and one I hadn’t understood. They really were here for the other.
And God, Ramses.
His mom was pushing him to see his dad, get closure. His dad wanted to see him, and the retelling made his chuckle dry.
“He actually said he did it for family back then,” Ramses said now, smirking. Though, he found nothing funny. In fact, most of his story he’d been in a far-off place, eyes vacant, voice hollow. He encircled my wrist. “Before the trial and all that, family. He said he had to protect us. My uncle Leo, my mom and me and the family’s image.” He shook his head. “He said he’d do anything.”
My chest hurt, physically pained but only for him. I squeezed him. “How is December?”
“She’s fine. Well, as fine as she can be.” His chest rose with weighted breath. “Time has passed. That helped.”
But still.
I closed my eyes before facing him. “Will you see him?” My knuckles ghosted his cropped hair. “You don’t have to, you know.”
“Maybe I should.” His smile was faint. “Get that closure. My mom’s probably right. It’s plaguing me. Makes me do stupid things.”
He didn’t go into that, but really, he didn’t have to. In all honesty, I had no idea why he was telling me any of this at all. He most certainly didn’t have to.
I touched a forehead to his shoulder. “I’m glad you told me.”
The smile tugging his lips widened. He angled his head back. “I’m glad I did too. Made me feel better. Go figure. Talking.”
That same smile pulled at my lips as well, his hair rough against my fingertips. “But you know you didn’t have to, right? You never have to tell me anything you don’t want to.”
I’d never make him, nor expect it. Our problems were our own, and we didn’t have to share them.
The water shifted as he rose from the bath, inch after inch of hard body. He captured me in between his solid arms, his wet fingers gliding through my hair. The first thing I’d done was tug my hair down, the tips wet.
Ramses followed them down, looping around a lock before tipping my chin. He framed my face, guiding me to face him.
“I will tell you anything you want to know about me,” he said, eyes scanning mine. “I’m an open book when it comes to you. I told you I want to try.”
And so that fear returned, that hesitance. His reason for telling me this and being open. We’d never had that relationship before, not without frenzy or backed by fear. He told me things when he was scared. Not when he had control.