He was sweet at some point in his life until, I guess, the responsibilities his father laid on his head hardened him. He was nine when the wars happened, and as a boy who already ran with the pack, he would have lost so many years of childhood in taking over in his father’s absence while protecting his family.
We had attacks here too, and many young boys had to fight for our survival. I don’t doubt he was one. I can almost see the point at which he turned away from anyone who wasn’t Santo, pushed people away and stayed in his own little bubble, snarling at others who dared to come too close. Colton, the shy sweet boy, and me, the fearless, bossy girl who didn’t let others push her around.
Oh, how the tables turned.
“So you knew me. It doesn’t matter.” I sigh finally, realizing he has
