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“I hid for a few days in parks and stole food from grocery stores. I was afraid to call my social worker because I knew she’d send me back to that house. After about a week, I was ready to give up. I was tired and hungry, still sick, had no money, and was completely out of options. I was sitting on a park bench, crying, trying to get the nerve to call my social worker when an older couple stopped to ask if they could help me. I told them my story. They took me to their home and helped me find my uncle.”
“Why didn’t you originally go to live with your uncle? Why did you have to go to a foster home in the first place?” he asks, confused.
“I didn’t remember that I had an uncle. I hadn’t seen him since I was a small child. Apparently, he and my mother had a falling out and hadn’t spoken for years. I never really learned why. My uncle won’t talk about it. I try not to push the subject since we have both been through our own share of hard times.”
“Tell me more about your foster family.” Jake is looking at me calmly, almost too calmly. Then I notice the angry glitter in his eyes and the rigid posture of his body.
“What do you want to know? I told you what I remember. And honestly, I just don’t like talking about it,” I reply reluctantly.
“Give me the name of the foster family that abused you,” he grinds out.
“No, Jake, I can’t do that. It was a long time ago. I just want it left alone.” I shake my head at him vehemently.
“I’m not asking. I have unlimited resources at my disposal and will find out for myself if needed. It won’t take any time at all to get the answer I need.”
“I’m begging you to let this drop. Please do not make me give you the names. Please do not go after them.”
His anger is not at all what I expected. His eyes lock onto mine in an unblinking hold while he waits for my answer, refusing to back down. I blanch as I realize what he said. He will investigate me to find out the name of my foster family. If he does that, he will also find out the name of my uncle. I begin to panic. If he finds out who my uncle is, everything will be ruined. I realize that there is no way to get out of this without giving him the information he is demanding. Before I can change my mind, I whisper the names.
Jake abruptly pushes his chair back and stands to his full impressive height.
“I’m sorry to cut dinner short, but I have some phone calls to make,” he says curtly.
And with that terse statement, he turns and retreats to his room. I sit in stunned silence for several moments as I repeat our conversation in my head. It has been a long time since I told anyone the story of my childhood. For years, I avoided the topic and the emotions that came with it. Nothing good has ever come from bringing up the past. Nowthat I shared my story with Jake, I can’t shake the feeling that I just made a huge mistake.
What is he going to do?
Hours later, I’m lying in bed, trying to read the latest mystery novel from my favorite author. I finally put my book onto the side table after realizing that I’ve read the same page over and over, and I still don’t know what I read. It’s almost midnight, and I’m restless and not the least bit tired. I have replayed the conversation with Jake in my head so many times, trying to figure out where I went wrong. How did I reveal so much to him? I’m usually so cautious around people. What is it about Jake that makes me want to blurt out every secret I’ve ever had?
He’s the last person I should be sharing secrets with.
Giving up on sleep, I swing my legs out of bed and grab the hotel-provided robe. I quietly peek out of my room to see if Jake is awake. No sign of him. Relieved that he’s asleep, I take a bottle of wine and a glass and head out onto the balcony.
It’s a coolish evening, and I am happy to have the robe. I belt it tightly and lie on the chaise lounge, sipping on my wine. The stars are out, and the moon casts a modest amount of light onto the balcony. I feel the tension ease from my body as I lie there in the semi darkness. I pour myself another glass of wine as I feel the stress melt away.
My thoughts begin to drift to Jake. I can finally admit to myself that I am attracted to him. I don’t want to be, and there is no way I will ever act on it. Not that a man like Jake would ever want a relationship with someone like me anyway. Let’s not forget his perfect model girlfriend. She’s his type; from what I gather, they are on the verge of marriage. Even if I didn’t have my uncle’s business to worry about, Jake and I could never be involved.
But it doesn’t stop me from wondering what if. What if he were attracted to me, too? I close my eyes and picture Jake as he looked coming out of the shower. My pulse quickens as I remember how the water streamed down his smooth chest. I picture my hands on his hips as my tongue licks the water droplets off his hard body.
I’m so lost in my thoughts, I don’t hear the door from Jake’s room slide open. I don’t hear him as he stands in the corner watching me for several seconds.
“Hmmm. I wonder what you are thinking about that has you smiling like that?”
I blink my eyes open slowly and turn to look at him. He is leaning up against the far wall of the balcony. Arms crossed casually. He is blanketed in darkness, the moonlight barely reaching him in the corner. The shadows make his expression unreadable.
“I’m just thinking about how relaxing it is out here. I could easily fall asleep in this lounge chair. Come try it out.”
I pat the chair beside me, beckoning him over.
“I should probably stay over here,” he responds. But then he walks toward the chair, his actions contradicting his words. I watch him as he lays his long legs out and finishes the drink in his hand.
“You’re right. This is relaxing. Maybe I’ll just fall asleep out here.” He turns to me as he speaks, and his lazy smile makes my spine tingle. “How long have you been out here?”
“Not long enough,” I sigh dreamily.
“I hope I’m not interrupting your solitude. I didn’t think you’d still be awake. Having trouble sleeping?” he asks curiously.
“Yes, too many thoughts keeping me awake.”
