Luther didn’t move for a long moment after finishing with my cheek.

He watched me—really watched me—like he was trying to read every crack, every bruise, every place I had ever folded myself in just to fit inside someone else’s expectations.

Then he exhaled softly.

“Come here.”

He didn’t touch me.

He didn’t pull.

He just waited.

I shifted closer, not sure why… only knowing that my body was tired of being on alert, tired of flinching, tired of pretending I was fine.

Luther ...