Chapter 6: The Backstory

The coffee in front of me had gone cold. Not that I’d had a chance to drink it. My hands were shaking too much to hold the cup without spilling, and the words I’d just spilled onto the table were somehow worse.

Adrian sat across from me, his face a stone wall, unreadable. I felt exposed, vulnerable, and stupid. Every word I’d just said sounded ridiculous even to my own ears.

Every ugly truth. Every stupid, shameful mistake I’d made by staying with Damian. I talked until my throat burned, my words spilling like a broken faucet I couldn’t turn off

My chest felt like it was caving in. He hadn’t said a word since I started, and now I was sure I’d made a mistake.

I tried to laugh, but it came out broken. “I probably sound ridiculous. Staying with someone like that, letting him treat me like—”

Me. That’s who.

My voice cracked, and I stopped, blinking rapidly. Don’t cry. Not here. Not in front of him.

I was failing

I wiped at the corner of my eye, trying to catch the tear threatening to escape before it gave me away completely. My chest ached, torn between shame and the ache of lingering feelings for Damian I couldn’t seem to shake.

Adrian moved, pushing his chair back with a scrape. I flinched, my eyes widening, but instead of storming off—or laughing at me like I feared—he crouched down beside me.

“You’re crying,” he said simply.

I shook my head. “I’m fine. Just ignore me.”

He didn’t.

Instead, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a white handkerchief. Who even carried handkerchiefs anymore? But the gesture stunned me into silence. He held it to my cheek, wiping the tear I hadn’t realized had fallen.

The handkerchief smelled faintly of him—woodsy, clean, and undeniably masculine. It was unfair how everything about him was so intoxicating.

“It’s just a tear,” I mumbled, mortified. “You don’t have to—”

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, his voice closer now. His hand brushed my cheek as he pulled the cloth away. “I’m sorry for raising such an asshole.”

I blinked, startled by the bluntness of his words. He glanced down for a moment, his jaw tightening.

Adrian leaned back slightly, his hand falling to his knee as he stayed crouched at my side. “Damian,” he said, his jaw tightening. “I’m sorry he turned out the way he did. I wasn’t there enough to… shape him into a real man. Not this spoiled little prick he’s become.”

I hesitated, staring at him. His words carried an edge, but there was something raw underneath, a bitterness that hinted at guilt.

“I thought…” I trailed off, trying to piece together my thoughts. “I thought Damian’s father had passed away. That’s what he told me.”

Adrian chuckled, the sound dry. “Is that what he said about me?” He leaned back slightly, sitting on his heels. “Well, as you can see, I’m alive. Hale and hearty.”

I nodded, awkwardly tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. He lies about a lot of things.”

Adrian’s lips curved faintly, though there was no humor in it. “Let me guess—he made himself out to be the tragic hero. Poor guy, raising himself, carrying the world on his shoulders?”

“That sounds about right.”

Adrian scoffed, shaking his head. “Here’s the real story. I got his mother, Lucia, pregnant during our senior year of college. Drunken night. Stupid mistake.” He shrugged. “I barely remember it, but she wanted to keep the baby. And I had to step up. Be responsible.”

I stayed silent, holding my breath.

“I dropped everything—my dreams, my football career. Got us an apartment. Worked my ass off during the day and went to night classes. For a while, it felt like I was making it work. Even though we weren’t in love, even though we were barely adults ourselves, it felt manageable.”

He paused, his eyes darkening. “Then the baby came. Damian. And suddenly, nothing was good enough. She insisted we get married, as if that would magically fix everything. We did, but…” He trailed off, shaking his head again.

“It didn’t fix anything,” I said softly, finishing the thought for him.

“Not even close,” he confirmed. “We fought constantly. She hated everything I did—my job, my schedule, my parenting. Eventually, we separated when Damian was three.”

I swallowed hard, unsure what to say. Adrian’s gaze stayed on me, like he was trying to gauge my reaction.

“She got custody,” he continued. “And let me see him when it suited her. Which wasn’t often.” He leaned back, his hand resting on the table, his fingers curling into a fist. “Lucia has always been… difficult.. She twisted Damian into a version of herself.”

“Wow,” I said, the word slipping out before I could stop it.

Wow. That was all I could offer? He’d just bared his soul to me, and I’d answered with wow?

I smacked my forehead, groaning. “Sorry. I didn’t mean… I mean, that’s just… a lot.”

Adrian chuckled, surprising me. “It’s fine. I get it. Not exactly the light brunch conversation.”

A soft laugh escaped me. “No, not really.”

He stood then, holding out a hand to help me up. I hesitated for half a second before taking it, his grip warm as he pulled me to my feet.

We were halfway to the door when I stopped, the question bubbling up before I could stop it.

“Adrian?”

He turned, one brow lifting. “Yeah?”

I hesitated, my cheeks heating. “Do you still need a date for the dinner tonight?

For a second, he just stared at me, his expression unreadable. Then that familiar smirk broke across his face.

“I thought you’d never ask,” he said.