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However, I understand Sin’s reasoning. Through the Grayson Foundation, we help hundreds of thousands of kids from all walks of life escape poor economic conditions. I truly get (and admire) that Sin’s huge, forgiving heart wants to make sure Matt’s child escapes poverty.
Like she couldn’t.
Sin told me she grew up middle class, but on the low end. The extremely low end.
Her father had suffered a kidney ailment when she was two, and the subsequent medical bills broke the family. Her parents had to scrimp and save her entire childhood.
Sin said their pretense that everything was fine was the worst. Her parents always thought she couldn’t hear the defeat in her dad’s voice or how her mother cried a few times a week over the money they didn’t have for the bills, the rent, or the car note. At their worst, dinner was sometimes a ketchup sandwich or a bowl of bouillon broth.
Damn.
Whatever kind of bastard my father was; I could always turn to Gramps if I was hungry. Sin had no one.
“Will you let me think about it? We can discuss it when I get back on Sunday.”
“Oh! It’s after midnight. Happy Birthday!”
I laugh at her enthusiasm and by the time we hang up, I’m almost back to the good feelings I had when we first started the call.
My birthday party is in full swing. I should be happy, laughing it up, and having a good time.
I can’t.
I’m deep in a stupor even as people congratulate me on my 29th birthday. Twenty-nine? How can it be possible when I feel like I’m back to being thirteen again and stuck in the middle of several situations I have no clue how to get out of?
Between thinking of Sin’s scumbag ex, Gramps, Spying-ass Thomas, and telling Tif the wedding is off, I grow more jittery than a cat around fireworks.
“Royce,” Tiffany says, touching my arm. Her concerned gaze takes me off one problem and puts me onto the next. “Is something wrong?”
I sigh, resisting the urge to rake a hand through my hair. “We need to talk, Tif.”
She nods quickly before giving me her back, her feet already on the move to a quiet corner, away from the laughter and conversation.
Gramps, at the cost of a hefty price tag, had rented the Bayview (of all places). Shit is packed to capacity with people I know, those I don’t, and some I hope never to see again.
Thomas is thankfully absent. Otherwise, I’d have laid him on his ass in front of Gramps and the rest for spying on Sin and me.
Tif and I reach our destination, a spot close to the coat check, but behind a wall that blocks us from most prying eyes. Before I can begin, Tiffany spins around with her hands on her hips. She’s wearing a bright red dress that would make the Big Bad Wolf take notice.
“You don’t want to get married, do you?”
“Did Gramps tell you?”
“No, he didn’t have to. When I went from hearing from you once a day by phone, to the occasional text, and then last week... nothing.” She shrugs her delicate shoulders, eyeing me keenly. “I’m a smart girl, Royce. I can make four from two and two.”
I mess up my styled hair by running a hand through it and clamping said hand on the back of my neck. I feel like shit. Tif doesn’t deserve to be abandoned.
Humiliated.
I told myself before I became involved with Sin that something like this would happen. I made a damn list of the problems it would cause. And now, I feel the weight of my decision; it’s hard and heavy and cuts like a knife to the gut.
“I guess I proved your first assumption right, huh?”
Tif lets out a tinkling laugh. It’s sweet, but it doesn’t match Sin’s in the things that it does to my heart.
The laughter she let out floats into her eyes. “Oh, you mean that time I told you I heard you’re a dick?”
“No,” I say, shaking my head so hard some hair falls onto my brow. “That I’m arealdick.”
