Page 77 of Reckless Devotion

I drop my head down a touch, watching him move to my arms and shoulders, inviting prickling awareness everywhere his fingers rub. “I can tell you where it came from, actually.”

His hands slow and I feel rather than see his focus switch to my face, that assessing gaze scraping over my skin like a sharp point at the sudden change of tone.

“What do you know?”

I shrug my shoulder, reaching up for the sunglasses that are perched on top of my head and sliding them down for some protection. “I did one of those DNA tests a couple years back. Turns out I’m mostly Indigenous American and European.”

“It must be hard, not having all the answers,” he says simply, holding space for my feelings in that way he always does.

I swallow, knowing what he’s asking. “All I know is that I was left on the doorstep of a fire house in a cardboard box.”

I bare the most tender parts of my soul in the midday sun, pulling the baseball cap he leant me when my nose started to peel an inch further down my face.

His hands halt. In fact, all of him does. I’m not sure he’s even breathing. I start to fidget, every second that stretches by increasing the crawling sensation beneath my skin. Why thefuckdid I tell him that?

“That’s…” He trails off, his throat sounding clogged. “No child should be left like that.”

I nod, my eyes fixed firmly on the chipped pink varnish on my toes. “I imagine sometimes that my biological mother might have been barely an adult herself, or perhaps even a terrified teenager who got herself into a situation she wasn’t equipped to handle.” Breeze scatters fresh sand across my thighs and I swipe it away. “It’s easier to forgive that way.”

I’ve gone over it a thousand times, imagining her with pin-straight black hair and the same angle to her eyes that I see in the mirror each day. It helps me to think of her like this, and perhaps I’m wrong, but I’d rather live in a soft fantasy than have my heart crushed by harsh truth.

“You’re an incredible woman, do you know that?” he murmurs, placing a gentle kiss behind my ear. “And when did you find Sunny?”

I smile, picturing the splintered wooden deck and the little kid sniffling next to a social worker. “We were placed into the same foster home together.”

“And you took her with you.” It’s a statement, not a question.

I wonder briefly how much he already knows about me. No doubt in the beginning he had his people digging up everything about me from my shoe size to the exact shade ofcoffee I prefer in the mornings. I suppose I don’t get to be mad at that, considering I quite literally hacked into his bank account.

“As soon as I could.” I look out at where she skips along the water’s edge, splashing Mr. Clay, her hair bleached almost entirely blonde by the sun and the chlorine.

We sit in silence for long seconds, and I’m stunned at how comfortable it is, nothing but the gulls flying overhead and the crash of waves.

“When did she transition?” Chase asks quietly from behind me.

I stiffen, my stomach twisting as my instant defensiveness roars to life. He must feel it, but he doesn’t say anything, just waits patiently instead.

I ruminate as I watch the girl in question plonk her wet butt down into the sand, warmth tangling within my unease for the increasingly rare moments where her inner child peeks through. I’d like to capture this part of her life—no job, no bills, no one expecting anything from her but to simply be.

“Last summer,” I answer eventually, unable to meet the focus that I can still feel boring into my face. The moment feels charged, like some great consequence hangs in the balance. And truly, I don’t want to admit how much I care what he thinks. It feels unbearably vulnerable.

“And she chose the name Sunny?”

I nod slowly, reaching over to pick up my spritz and taking a measured sip. The silence multiplies into long seconds, where I become increasingly on edge.

“It suits her,” he says finally, a sense of finality embedded in the words.

I feel tears of relief begin to pool in my eyes and press my sunglasses higher up my nose to hide them.Whydo I care what he thinks? He’s everything I hate in a man…except he’s not. The belief system I’ve lived inside begins to crash around me withevery day that passes. Every day where I see all the parts of him that are good and kind and honorable.

“Will you let her start treatment?”

My eyes bounce to his, and from behind the sanctity of my UV veil, I see a light frown gracing his carved features.

“What, you have some opinion on that?” I bite harder than I mean to, the mama bear in me tossing up in challenge.

“No,” he responds in a measured tone, the brackets beside his mouth deepening. I bite the inside of my cheek to prevent myself from snapping further, and as I do so, he turns himself to me, golden sun glistening off every unfairly precise feature. He takes hold of my chin, stealing away my ability to turn away from him.

“Pepper, in case it isn’t clear, I think you have done an extraordinary thing in becoming Sunny’s guardian.” He looks sincere, a dark lock sliding over his tanned forehead. “It was brave and downright fucking admirable, and there is nothing that I would judge you for.”