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I’d had plenty of people around me who cared, who had wanted to help when I was struggling, pick me up when I stumbled.
Then I thought of my kids, who had the same thing. Or had up until a year ago. Since then, there were nothing but speed bumps. But even then, they were surrounded by people who loved them.
My heart broke for young Kace, without parents, extended family, with adults all around him who ignored him at best and mistreated him at worst. Then I marveled at the man he’d become.
“Math was the one thing that came easy to me. That felt steady.” He shrugged. “I liked being good at something. And, like any kid who came from nothing, I quickly figured out the best ways to make money out of it. When I patched in to the club, I shared this ability that I’d honed. Figured out ways to make money in legit ways. Not legal by any means, but criminals wearing ten thousand-dollar suits commit those same crimes in broad daylight, so the world has figured out a way to palette that shit more.”
“And you’re making our club money?” I clarified, my champagne drunk brain having trouble following on with all of this information. Realizing that Kace was so much more than he seemed. So much more than a hot guy who was great in bed.
Kace shrugged again. “You could say that.”
I stared at him, really stared. “You’re amazing,” I whispered. “What you’ve come from. What you’ve made of yourself. You’re truly amazing.”
Something moved across his face, something serious. Intense. “Babe, I survived foster care, most kids do that. Patched in to an outlaw motorcycle club. Wouldn’t call any of that amazing.”
There was something about the way he said that. Not humility. Vulnerability. He truly didn’t believe me. Why would he? He’d had a lifetime of people treating him like he wasn’t worth something. That he wasn’t somebody. I’d been sleeping with him for months now, yet I’d been too deep in my own head to realize that he needed things. That he wasn’t as strong as he appeared to be. That I’d been fucking selfish in my bid to protect my heart.
I’d left his out in the cold.
I stepped forward, clutching his neck. “No, you listen to me Kace...” I trailed off. “Oh, my God. I don’t even know your last name. We’ve been getting all heartfelt and intense, fucked in every way people can fuck and you eat breakfast with my kids. You need to tell me your last name.”
Kace chuckled, not at all horrified or offended about this. “Renyolds, babe. Not a big deal.”
I scowled. “It is a big deal. If we are really doing this, if I’m really your Old Lady—”
“You are,” he interrupted.
I rolled my eyes. “Okay, whatever. I need to know things like your last name. And if you’re Rain Man of the stock market. And I need you to believe that I think you’re amazing”
Kace’s eyes were soft. Liquid gold. “Okay, Lizzie.”
“I’m serious,” I snapped. “Let me show you you’re amazing.”
My hands moved from his neck, down his torso, cupping him on the outside of his jeans.
“Oh, you can totally fucking show me in any way you’d like,” Kace rasped.
So I did.
Then he showed me he thought I was pretty amazing too.“What did you and Amy fight about?” Kace asked me again later.
I was halfway asleep, the alcohol and orgasms helping me drift off within seconds of Kace finishing and cleaning me up. Not something he did normally, it felt too intimate and weird. I’d preferred the separation that came from going to the bathroom, closing the door and taking care of myself after sex.
It took the intimacy out of it. Which was the most important thing with Kace.
The champagne and orgasms made me forget about that. And they’d also made the idea of getting up and walking to the bathroom far too tiring.
Kace had immediately brought me into his arms when he finished. I’d tried to fight the cuddling. Again, too intimate. It worked at the start. Kace was still being careful around me. Still figuring out just how fucked up I was. How breakable.
But then I got lax. Or maybe Kace had finally figured me out. Whatever the reason, he took charge. Gave me not much of a chance for escape. Sure, he would’ve let me go if I’d asked, but tonight I wasn’t strong enough to ask.
And no matter what I tried to tell myself, I liked being held by him. Even if I had moments of pure panic and guilt. Moments I’d tense up, roll out of bed and cry in the bathroom for ten minutes.
“She invaded my privacy,” I murmured. “Made decisions for me that weren’t hers to make.” I hadn’t planned on telling him the specifics of the fight. Or even anything vague. But I was feeling sleepy, warm, safe.
