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She clasped his hand between her own. “That’s the beauty of families. You don’t have to pay for anything, because we didn’t provide a service. We provided love.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Bryant.”
“Pff, who is Mrs. Bryant? For you, I’m Rosalinda or Rosie. Whatever you feel more comfortable saying.”
“Then thank you, Rosie.”
At that moment, something shifted in Ben. I couldn’t understand what it was, I just noticed he was more emotional and less wordy. Not knowing what to do, I looked around and saw everyone smiling at us. Zach, who was by the door having come back from the bathroom with Gabe in his arms, draped a hand on Ben’s shoulder, squeezing it in reassurance.
He nodded at his best friend and then stood up slowly, offering me his hand. “Come on, I wanna show you my room.”
Seeming to understand what I couldn’t, Rosie lightened the mood, yet still being a mother hen. “No funny business upstairs, young man.”
Mia snorted gazing at my belly. “It’s a little late for that preach, don’t you think?”
“You so deserve that little shit.” Despite his words, Ben had a smile tugging at his lips.
“Do not call Hugo that, Benny!” she called at our back, while Ben chuckled, taking me upstairs.
When we reached the top, he paused for a second, taking in a deep breath. He looked around, seemingly reviving his past.
He squeezed my hand and tugged me gently along the corridor. He pointed to the first door to our left. “This was Mia’s bedroom. That bigger one at the end of the hall is Jackson and Rosie’s suite. The last door to the right is the upstairs bathroom, which Zach and I shared with Mia. And this,” he stopped at the first door to our right, diagonally to Mia’s bedroom, “was Zach’s and my bedroom. My haven.”
We strode into the big room, and it was like a trip to the past. It was clear the Bryants didn’t change a thing, leaving it like the boys still lived there. Soccer posters hung from the wall. I didn’t know the players, but from their uniforms, I knew they were mostly Brazilians. There were also pictures without the portraits hanging from the wall, funny pictures mostly of the boys and Mia. Outdated school books lined the shelf in the corner; the shelf was also filled with other memorabilia—snow globes, hot wheels, medals, trophies, and Zach’s origami. Two desks were pressed against each other, both against the wall opposite the beds.
Two brown armchairs sided the desks. They looked worn, but that made them seem even more comfortable.
I perused the space. “Is that a Brazilian little flag over the desk?”
“Yes. Rosie is from Brazil. She moved here when she was a teenager. A few years later, she met Jackson, and they got married. The guys have a lot of Brazilian habits.”
“Like what?”
“I’m sure you noticed they’re huggers. Even Jackson was converted. Rosie also eats pizza using cutlery. They like to eat avocado with squeezed lemon and sugar.”
I laughed. “I could never imagine eating avocado like that.”
“I’m glad they taught me that. It’s quite delicious.”
I sat down on one of the twin beds, near the closet, looking around.
“Nice choice. This was my bed.” He sat next to me, leaning his back against the headboard, then took my hand. “This is where my life was saved. My new beginning.”
I leaned back as well, shifting to him, my bent knees over his stretched legs, and I was faced with so much vulnerability.
“If you don’t wanna talk about it, it’s okay.” With my free hand, I caressed his cheek, his stubble scratching it, while he put his hand over my belly protectively. “Don’t feel like you should open up if you’re not ready.”
“I think it’s time. I want you to know about me. My past. This place. This is a big part of my life, and so are you. I need to stop running. I wanna love you as you deserve.” He took in a deep breath. “Falling for you was the craziest thing I’ve ever done, and it fixed a part of me I didn’t even realize was broken. So I want you...no, I need you to understand where I come from. Why I am the way I am. How those people downstairs saved me. How you made my life better.”
I scooched closer to him without saying a word, letting him get a grip on his feelings.
“My mom was called Leslie. She was so pretty and loving. We struggled a lot when I was a kid, but she always baked me at least a cupcake for my birthday and made sure she had a gift for me, even if she had to go without something she needed. Sometimes a coat for the winter, sometimes medicine. Every night, she tucked me into bed, kissed me goodnight, and told me she loved me.
“The last time she did that, I was nine. Right before my father killed her.”
I felt her gasp more than I heard it. My story wasn’t a beautiful one, but I was tired of hiding it from her. She deserved the truth, even if I lost her because of it.
“I could never prove it. How could I? I was nine years old. Michael was a deranged man who only knew how to talk through his fists, even with his wife and kid, while wasting food money gambling, drinking, or whatever. I never knew for sure what he did. The first years of my life were a mixture of love from my mom, who did everything she could to shield me from him, and utter fear for our lives whenever he was around.
