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Birthdays seemed too much like celebrating that you were one day closer to death. Or they were another reminder that no one loved you.
I woke up the morning of my seventeenth birthday with a crushing weight on my chest. More than anything I wanted to yank the covers over my head and go back to sleep until the next day.
Buzz!
I flung my hand out and grabbed my cell phone.
Uncle Dex: Happy Birthday, Julez!
That forced a hint of a smile onto my face.
Even though he was in and out of my life, Dex usually remembered my birthday.
My phone vibrated again.
Roman: Happy birthday, butterfly! Can’t wait to see you today.
How’d he know it was my birthday?
Intrigued and smiling, I flung back the covers and raced to get dressed. Even though it was almost too warm for a jacket, I pulled on the green, leather jacket Dex had given me as my early birthday present a few weeks ago and trotted down the stairs.
No one was waiting for me in the kitchen. I grabbed the brown bag lunch I’d packed the night before and shoved it in my backpack before racing out the door.
I tried to get to school as early as possible to give me as many extra possible seconds with Roman as I could squeeze into a day.
That morning he was waiting for me on the front steps.
“Hey, birthday girl,” he said in that low, gravelly voice I felt down to my toes. He swept me into an embrace and pressed his lips to mine.
The school, the noises around us, even the fact that it was my birthday all faded away. There was just the two of us.
Breathless, we parted and he stared at me for a few simmering seconds before smiling and presenting me with a small, square box.
“Roman! You didn’t! How’d you know it was my birthday?”
“I have my methods.”
The pretty blue paper had daisies and butterflies dotted all over it and I hated to rip it open. “This is so pretty!”
“Please open it. I want you to see it before school starts.”
“Okay.” This was already the best day. I carefully eased my nail under the tape and peeled the paper apart without ripping it. I’d cut out a piece and tape it into my diary tonight.
Inside, was a square purple box and I gently pried off the lid. “Oh!” My breath caught. “It’s beautiful!”
Daisies! He remembered how much I love daisies.
The dark, hunter green matched the leather of my jacket—my favorite color. I ran my finger over the embossed leather, tracing the carved lines of each petal. “It’s beautiful. I love it so much. Thank you.”
He brushed his knuckles over my cheek. “Nothing’s as beautiful as you and you’re welcome.”
Tears pricked my eyes. I couldn’t believe how sweet and thoughtful he was.
“Juliet, is it okay? You look like you’re going to cry.” He sounded so distressed, I forced a smile onto my face.
“If I am, they’re happy tears. Thank you for thinking of me.”
“I’m always thinking of you, Juliet.” His voice held nothing but sincerity.
To stop myself from blubbering all over him, I held out the bracelet. “Put it on for me, please?”
A delightful shiver raced down my spine as he wrapped his fingers around my wrist and pulled me closer. He swept his thumb over my pulse point. Desire quickened my blood. “Roman.”
“Sorry. You’re just so soft. I love touching you.”
My heart raced so fast, I couldn’t answer. He wrapped the bracelet around my wrist and snapped it secure. “I’m never taking it off.”
“Well, you might want to when you shower.” He closed his eyes. “Damn,” he whispered. “Now I’m picturing you in the shower in nothing but the bracelet.”
I burst into giggles and smacked his chest. Instead of the playful smile I expected, he captured my hand and held it over his heart. “I’m not kidding, butterfly.”
So much heat pulsed between us. I reached up on tiptoes and softly kissed his lips. “One day soon.”
“I can’t wait.”
The bell rang, startling us apart. “Shoot. We’re going to be late.” He picked up my bag and took my hand. “I doubt birthday girls get a pass.”
“Nope.”
Several times throughout the morning, he caught me staring at my bracelet, touching the intricately carved lines.
For the first time in my life, I didn’t hate my birthday.
Twenty-Five
Roman
The happiness on Juliet’s face became an addiction. I loved making her smile more than anything in the world.
I needed a damn job
Not just to buy her trinkets. More than that. I was trying to plan ahead. For our future.
I wanted to slip a ring on her finger, find a place for us to live, and send her to school.
After that, I wasn’t sure. Maybe I’d even consider going to school myself. For the first time in my life, I wasn’t just trying to survive from day to day.
Every now and then she’d hint about having a family. I knew from the day we met she wanted pretty babies she could give all the things she’d never had.
How she held onto that kind of hope was a mystery to me. My life had taught me how unpredictable the world could be. Death claimed who it wanted when it wanted. I could have all the best intentions to be there for my children and still let them down. Leaving them at the mercy of the foster care system. It's not like either one of us had any reliable relatives I’d trust with my kid.
The call I’d been both hoping for and dreading since the day he showed up at school came at the right time.
“I have a lead on a job for you,” Dex said as soon as I answered.
Fucking great.
Even though I’d gotten the okay to accept a job, I hadn’t been able to find anyone willing to offer me one. Somehow I knew Dex’s help would come with strings attached.
But I needed some way to earn money so I could take care of Juliet and treat her the way she deserved.
Still, I answered with caution. “How about some details?”
He chuckled as if he’d been waiting for the question.
“Buddy of mine owns the Jericho Two, you know it?”
I only knew that it was the drive-in movie theater Juliet was hoping to get a job at over the summer. “I’ve heard of it.”
“He needs help landscaping and cleaning it up for when they open in a couple weeks. So it’s probably not a long-term job, but if you do well, he might be able to find you something through the season.”
“Sounds good.” Fuck knew I’d done plenty of manual labor over the years for foster parents who had “foster kid” confused with “slave labor.” It’d be nice to at least earn some cash for breaking my back.
“It’s a little bit of a walk off the bus line, but nothing you can’t handle.”
I doubted the home was going to just hand over a bus pass and be cool about the job, but I didn’t want to say no to Dex. My counselor was right, at some point I needed to start thinking about what the hell to do with myself once I aged out of foster care. So maybe they’d be okay with this arrangement.
One thing I knew for damn sure, stipend or not, I’d need money. For some reason, Dex seemed determined to help me. I’d be an idiot to piss him off by saying no.
“Thank you, Dex.”
Dex gave me the information and I scribbled it down. Shit, a job would mean a lot less time for sneaking around with Juliet after school. Unless she was able to work there too. Maybe if I was already working there and the owner liked me, I could give her some sort of edge. Or maybe once I proved myself, I’d ask Dex if he’d put in a good word for Juliet.
The “lead” was more of a sure thing. The owner of the place, another biker who went by the name of Ulfric, hired me on the spot.
“Dex’s word is good enough for me,” he’d said.
I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. If I fucked up, I’d end up dealing with not one, b
ut two pissed-off bikers.
“Set your own hours. Just get this cleaned up by Memorial Day,” Ulfric said in his gruff no-bullshit way. Not that he was rude, he just never seemed to use more words than absolutely necessary.
