Page 58 of Last First Kiss
“I love going there.”
“What did my brother say to you?”
“You mean brothers? When you weren’t looking they all said, in no uncertain terms, that if I hurt you they knew ways to have me killed where I’d suffer unimaginable pain.”
“Oh, they don’t have to worry. If you hurt me, I have creative ways to deal with it.” She picked up her foot, placed the heel of her sneaker on the leather seat, and pulled her jeans a little higher to reveal a scary-looking knife.
“Jesus, you’re lethal.”
The silence stretched for far too long and the question hung in the air. “You’re dying to ask me, aren’t you? Go ahead, ask.” He was facing forward and he wasn’t smiling any longer.
She turned her body toward him. “What happened to you earlier? Are you okay? I feel like I somehow broke you.”
He upshifted the car, and it bounced slightly as he went a little faster. “It’s really not a big dramatic story. I grew up in the foster care system, going from one house to another. I’m sure there’re many great foster parents, but I didn’t know any. I met Paul when we were twelve. Twelve-year-olds didn’t place easily, you know, not as cute and sweet as babies. So we were in a group home.”
“Like an orphanage?”
“Something like that.” He downshifted, slowing as he turned into a curve. “Got into trouble a lot. Nothing big, petty shit like stealing, smoking, things like that.”
“What happened to your parents?”
“Don’t know. I was left at a fire station when I was a baby.”
Her mouth fell open and she saw a twitch of his jaw so she cleared her throat and tried to pretend it didn’t hurt her heart to hear this. He didn’t want her pity, it seemed. “So, you and Paul were handsome little hooligans, huh?”
“Pretty much. Did terribly at school, mostly because we didn’t go. And that was mostly because we were tired. Fucking exhausted. We fought for cots, had to keep an eye out so our things didn’t get stolen. It’s hard to go to school when your belly hurts from hunger and you’re eyes can’t stay open long enough to hear about Shakespeare.”
“How’s this not on Wikipedia?”
“You searched me, huh?”
“Of course, I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t know everything about you. I didn’t just do Wikipedia, I checked the deep dark webs too.”
“You hacked into my shit, didn’t you?”
“A lady never hacks and tells.”
He chuckled and with the hand that was by her chair he playfully tugged her hair. “It’s no secret I was in the foster system. The details of it, that’s not something I talk about, and neither does Paul, so that’s the shit you won’t find.” They’d arrived at the house and he pressed the button for the gate. “So, one day at seventeen, a talent scout who happened to be at the mall where Paul and I were loitering, smoking a cigarette and acting foolish, saw me. Within a week he signed me. Within a month I landed a big campaign making more money from a few photographs than I’d ever seen in my life.”
“And Paul.”
“Paul’s my brother in every way that counts. He was with me when we were at our worst. If he scored food, he shared it. If he got into a good foster home, he made sure I snuck in through the window to sleep on the floor. When I was able to make rent on a small studio, he came to live with me. When I made something of a name for myself, I pulled strings to get him an internship at a big agency. It took some years, but once I was sure he knew what the hell he was doing, I dumped my agent, who was sucking me dry with shitty jobs and high commissions, and became his first big client.”
“That’s amazing, Rock. Seriously. I knew you guys were close, but . . .”
“That fucker makes as much as I do.” He laughed and shook his head, as if thinking back warmly on his friend. “Sometimes I can’t get him to lift a finger for me, he’s so busy. But there’s no one I trust more.”
“I’m glad you have that in your life,” she said. They were still sitting in his car.
“So, I freaked out today. It was overwhelming. I’ve never had a family dinner. Not ever. I’ve never . . . Shit . . .” He cleared his throat and stopped speaking. “We’re here.” The change of subject was jarring, as he stepped out of the car and she followed.
She practically jogged around the front of the car and stopped him before he disappeared inside the house. “Wait. Tell me. What were you going to say?”
“It’s nothing.”
“Then it should be easy to tell me.”
“It’s stupid and dumb and I’m a thirty-seven-year-old man, it’s . . . stupid.”
