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He expels a sigh. ‘You’re going to drill me until I bare my soul, huh?’
But it’s said almost with wry humour, and so I reply in kind. ‘You betcha. But I’ll make it up to you later.’ My wink is a promise we both know we’ll fulfil. Heat simmers in my blood; I ignore it. My brain is demanding more of me. I want to know him. I want to understand him.
‘I was heading for a different kind of future,’ he says stiffly. ‘The boys’ home was like a last chance for kids like me. Most of the guys I was in with had juvie records. I was there because no one else would take me. I’d been in and out of foster homes—sixteen times. I’d developed some...not good habits.’
My heart squeezes for him. ‘You were just a kid.’
‘A kid who torched cars, stole from my families, got into fights over nothing. I was always bigger than everyone else. Stronger. I was glad for that.’
‘You’re not violent, though,’ I say.
‘How do you know?’ His eyes pin me to my seat.
I speak slowly, calming a heart that is racing. ‘Because I’ve known violence. I’ve seen it, remember? I know the lure of it, the control of it, the temptation it holds for those who respond to it. You might have lashed out because you were angry and scared, because you didn’t know how to handle your emotions differently. That’s not the same thing.’
His eyes widen at my comment. I see something strange in his face. Relief? As though I have said exactly what he needs to hear?
‘Did you ever get a rush from hitting someone? Did you ever crave that?’
‘Fuck, no. Jesus, Holly. Never.’ It’s like he’s remembered where we are and who he’s talking to. He lifts his hand from my thigh, cupping my cheek, locking us together. ‘I would never hit anyone, ever. I would never hurt you. I’m not that kid I was. And I’m not Aaron.’
Something like tears clog my throat. I haven’t cried in a really long time. I can’t believe I feel that emotion now! But his assurance pulls at something deep inside me. Something that aches to be told I am safe.
‘You’re so right,’ he says, moving closer. It’s just us in the restaurant—or that’s the way it feels. ‘I didn’t want to be like that. It felt, sometimes, like the only way I could be heard.’
‘What happened? After the boys’ home?’
He frowns.
‘You told me you had seventeen homes. And just now you said sixteen. So? Where did you go next?’
‘You’re astute,’ he says, the words almost panicked.
‘I pay attention. It’s my job.’
His eyes skim my face thoughtfully. ‘I was taken in by a couple who had four grown children still living at home. It’s where I met Gabe.’
‘He’s one of their kids?’
‘He was fostered by them. They needed “strong young men”.’ He says those words differently, like he’s impersonating someone. ‘To help around the house. We were basically slaves.’ The words are said with derision. ‘Gabe had been there years before I came along.’
‘Were you happy there?’
He is thoughtful for a moment. ‘I was safe there. They fed us. The house was clean. Gabe and I shared a room, but it was big, and they were worried enough about appearances to buy us new shoes each season and dress us good. It was one of the better homes I was taken in by.’
In all ways but one, Holly thought sadl
y, her heart breaking for both Gabe and Noah. To have never known love, to have never known the security and peace of mind it offers...
‘I didn’t like him at first.’ Noah’s smile is loaded with memories. ‘He’s a good guy. Always has been. Smart. Loyal. Intelligent. He drove me crazy. But, once I got to know him, I understood he was just like me. He’d learned to cope with the foster system by flying under the radar. I coped by railing against it. We were apples and oranges.’
‘And peas in a pod,’ I say, striving to lighten the mood.
He nods. ‘Yeah.’ But he’s lost in thought. I watch him, the flicker of emotions on his face, each transition seeming to carry weight and meaning. ‘He’s the reason I came to you. It was his idea.’
And the crumbs he’d dropped in our first meeting come back to me. ‘He wanted you to get therapy.’
He shrugs, like it doesn’t matter.
