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“Yes.” He takes another swig of his drink.
“What could you do at eleven? Watch?” I tease.
Alaric cracks a smile.
“Definitely not. My father was more of a hands-on type of teacher. There were always small tasks I could do, even at a young age. Dad taught me all of them, and as I became good at whatever task he threw at me, we began to know each other. Before that, I don’t think he really knew me or I him.”
“Maybe you should take me to work with you,” I joke.
“That’s not happening,” he states firmly.
“Why not? I might be good at it,” I flirt, stroking his hand.
“Because I want better for you. I don’t want you to have to do other people’s bidding. I want you to finish school, get your degree, and then do something you really care about,” he murmurs, lifting my hand to kiss it.
“I don’t know what I want to do yet.”
“That’s okay. You have time to figure it out.”
“Thank you. That means a lot to me. I never had that type of support before. People never really cared about what I wanted. It feels nice,” I admit openly, sharing a part of me with him.
“What about you? Tell me about your childhood,” he finally asks, his blue eyes locking me in place like always.
“I would rather not. It isn’t the nicest of stories,” I hedge, flinching at the reminder and pulling my hand away.
“Even so, I still want to know,” he implores, his gaze patient and kind.
I worry my lower lip and take a sip of my red wine for courage, thankful Alaric requested a private booth in the Michelin-star restaurant to give us a semblance of privacy so we could talk freely like this.
“At first it was only my mother and me. I never knew who my father was, and I’m not sure my mother did either. She wasn’t too mean to me when I was younger, just cold and unaffectionate. I think getting pregnant with me when she was so young made her resent me a little, but everything got worse as I started to grow up and become aware of things. Mom was a lot like your dad in that regard. She never stayed in one place for long, but that was more due to the fact that she couldn’t keep a guy for more than a few months. We would live with them for a while, and when they got bored with her or couldn’t handle a toddler messing with their things, they would kick us both out on the street.”
My hands tremble as I remember those years and how she would always say it was my fault that we were kicked to the curb. Of course, the fact that she would steal or cheat on them was never the issue.
It was always me.
“What happened next?” Alaric croons, entwining our fingers to give me courage, and by some sort of miracle, his touch gives me the strength I need to muster through.
“Then Roy came along. He was the only one who stayed long enough to marry her. Mom was over the moon. She got pregnant with Gage and then Zoey, and even though she was still a shitty mom, at least she wasn’t cruel or mean to them. She would even bake them birthday cakes sometimes. Maybe it was because she was older when she had them, or maybe it was just because she loved them when she couldn’t love me.”
I take another sip of wine, my throat drying with the memories that bombard me.
“I wish I could tell you that Roy was better than the others, but he wasn’t. In fact, he was the worst of them all. He would find any excuse he could to beat up my mom. She would always have a fresh cut on her lip or a new bruise on her cheek, but she never once thought of leaving him.” My voice hitches as the memories of her pain-filled screams echo in my head—of what came next.
“What about you? How did your stepfather treat you and your siblings?” Alaric asks, his voice bringing me back to the present.
“I wish I could tell you that his abusive ways were only directed at my mother, but they weren’t. He never shied away from slapping us around. In all honesty, though, he wasn’t very interested in us kids. For the most part, he left us alone and pretended we didn’t even exist. We only got his attention when one of us did something he didn’t like, and then he would discipline us. However, things changed once I got these.” I point to my boobs. “His interest in me morphed from disinterest to curiosity. I couldn’t pass him without his hands grabbing me in places he had no business touching. Sometimes I would act out just so he saw me less like the object he wanted to fuck and more like the petulant child he needed to discipline.”
“Where was your mother during all this?” Alaric snarls, his eyes filling with anger as his hand tightens on mine. It feels nice for someone to be angry on my behalf, so I answer honestly.
“Drunk. High. Nursing a hangover or her own twenty rounds with him. She didn’t care. As far as my mother was concerned, Roy could do whatever he wanted with me just as long as it kept the peace in the household.” I snort bitterly.
“What changed?”
“Gage,” I mutter, the sound of my kid brother’s name pulling my heart into a viselike grip. “Roy was a gun nut. He had a whole collection of them stashed away in his garage. One day, he found Gage playing around with one of his rifles. Roy didn’t like that. He didn’t like that at all. Even though Gage was only eight, he punched and kicked him as if he were a grown man who could take such a beating. That’s when my mother decided she’d had enough. We packed our stuff the very next day and left.”
“What happened then?” he inquires, as if sensing this is where my story takes an even darker turn.
“Bad luck happened. Roy happened. He saw us making a run for it and followed us. My mom was always a shitty driver, but with Roy chasing us in his truck, she lost control of our car and slammed into a tree. Roy caught up with us on a deserted road and killed Mom and Gage. He shot me too,” I mumble, touching the faint scar from the bullet wound on my shoulder. “I really thought he was going to kill us all, but then out of nowhere, an angel appeared and took the monster down. I never found out who shot Roy and saved Zoey and me from certain death, but whoever that person was, they were our saving grace, and I’ll never be able to fully thank them for killing my stepfather.”
