Page 11 of Adoring Fletcher
I twisted around, suddenly self-conscious. Adam was staring at me. Not just staring—his eyes trailed slowly up and down my body.
My stomach gave a nervous squirm. He was probably just looking at my scars. I had nothing to offer a rich Alpha like him, even if hewasgorgeous.
“Yep,” I squeaked out. “Almost done.” I gestured to the pile of weeds laying on the lawn, then to the remaining work to be done still.
“It’s too hot,” Adam said, holding out the lemonade. “You’re going to end up with heatstroke. Come inside and take a break. You can finish this evening, once the temperature drops a bit.”
Swallowing the nerves fluttering in my throat, I nodded and stood.
I took the offered glass, the condensation cool against my heated skin, and brought it to my mouth. One greedy gulp—cool, sweet and just a little tangy—and I sighed in relief.
“Delicious,” I admitted with a small smile.
“Thanks,” he replied. “It’s my secret recipe.”
As Adam turned and walked back toward the house, I slung my sweaty shirt over my shoulder and followed him inside.
That night, over dinner, Adam finally asked the question I’d been waiting for, the one I knew would come eventually.
“I know it’s none of my business,” he began. “But I’m curious. Your scars… You have so many.”
From anyone else, it might have felt like a slap to the face, but coming from Adam, I knew it was just him voicing his concerns.
“My life hasn’t been the easiest,” I admitted, setting my fork down to rest on the side of my plate. “One of my foster mothers had it out for me, for some reason. I could never do anything right. Looking back, she only fostered for the money. She didn’t care about any of us, but she was never as cruel to the others as she was to me.”
“Damn.”
“Whenever I’d mess up, she’d punish me. Said I deserved what I got.”
I held out my arms, turning my wrists to show him the tiny circular scars burned into my flesh.
“She used to put out her cigarettes on my wrists. If I cried, she’d light up another, to do it again. She’d make me pick out my own switch, and she’d whip me until I bled. She didn’t care if I was still healing from the last time; she just laid down wound after wound.”
I shook my head slowly, the memories crashing over me like cold water.
“How old were you?” Adam asked.
I thought about it for a moment. “I think it started when I was seven or eight, and ended when I was twelve. I spent so many nights lying in agony, my back raw and aching, leaving blood on the sheets. I got punished for that too.”
“Jesus Christ,” Adam muttered softly. “She never should’ve been allowed around children.”
I let out a humorless laugh. “Don’t worry. She got hers,” I murmured. “My wounds got infected at one point. I got really sick, ran a high fever. I managed to sneak over to the neighbor’s house and begged them to take me to the doctor.”
“They did. And once I was there, everything came pouring out. All the abuse, all of the hell we’d gone through. My fostermother was arrested and jailed. Me and the other kids were sent back into the system.”
Adam stared at me, his jaw slack. “Have youeverhad a good life?” he asked quietly.
I gave a small, sad smile. “No. Not really. My birth-mom didn’t want me. I grew up in the orphanage, bounced around foster homes. None of them kept me for long. After the fiasco with the abuse case, I was pretty much written off.”
“When I turned eighteen, they dumped me on the streets with a bag of belongings and a ‘good luck.’ I’ve been homeless ever since. That’s when I met Jacks and the gang. And, well… The rest is history.”
Adam frowned, deep grooves cutting into his forehead. “I’m sorry you went through all that,” he said softly. “That sucks.”
The sincerity in his voice sent a quiver of an ache through my heart.
I shrugged, stabbing a bite of pork chop with my fork and popping it into my mouth. After I chewed and swallowed, I said simply, “That’s life.”
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