He let her take this time to herself, didn’t rush her, pressure her, or try to get the conversation moving along. This was hard for her. Hell, it had been hard for him to talk about what happened, and he’d give her all the space and time she needed.
“When I was seventeen I had a relationship with a man much older than me, a man that I shouldn’t have done anything with because of who he was.”
He didn’t say anything, just let her take this breather before she continued.
“He was my teacher in high school, would ask me to stay after class so he could help me with my studies, and, well,” she lifted her gaze to his, “one thing led to another.”
She didn’t need to elaborate what she meant, clearly. “He took advantage of you,” Larson said, feeling anger that some man had controlled this young woman and taken something from her that she wasn’t mature enough to give.
“He didn’t, but others said that. My parents said that.” She inhaled deeply, and exhaled slowly. “I knew what I was doing. I was seventeen, and you and I know that’s not a child, not really.”
He didn’t argue the point with her, because if he had a daughter and that happened to her Larson would have felt like it was rape in every way. “How old was he?”
“Thirty,” she said without hesitation.
“He took advantage of you,” he said again, harder this time.
She shrugged. “It happened regardless, and…” She stopped, and he had a feeling whatever she was about to say was what they were really talking about. “I got pregnant.”
There was this long silence between them. He didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to comfort her. Hell, he didn’t even think she would welcome comfort at this moment, not by the way she kept twisting her fingers together and bouncing her feet on the floor.
“I grew up going to church every Sunday, my parents instilling in me that I needed to save my virginity until I was married because that’s what God wanted for me. Being with him meant I was a slut, disgracing them, their name, and the church.”
He hated that she was so upset right now, her voice shaking, her fear and pain evident.
“School was almost out, but I left before I was showing, got my GED, had the baby, and gave him up for adoption.” She kept twisting her fingers together. “But it was better for him. He got the life I’d never have been able to give him.”
He pulled her onto his lap, not about to have her deal with this alone. “I’m so sorry. Have you seen him? Your child I mean?” He didn’t know how to ask the question, or if he even should ask it.
“He’s not my child, hasn’t been from the moment I gave him up.”
“That’s not true,” he said and pulled her back so he could look in her face. “In here,” he placed his hand on her chest, “he will always be yours.”
She smiled, her tears slipping down her cheeks. He leaned forward and kissed them away, tasted the saltiness of her pain and sadness, and pulled her in for a hug. She rested her head on his chest.
“I feel like I should be the one to be comforting you. Your life, and what you lost, is so much more painful than mine.”
He shook his head. “Your pain is just as hard, just as real. I’ve never dealt with losing a child, and although your son is still alive, it’s still painful for you, still a loss, and that shouldn’t be disregarded.” He ran his hand up and down her back.
“I’m sorry about your wife, Larson.”
“Thank you, baby, and I’m so sorry about what happened to you.” He felt closer to her after sharing these things and hearing her past. “Did you tell your teacher about the baby?” He didn’t know if it was okay to even talk about this.
“I did, and he accused me that it wasn’t his, and if I told anyone both of our lives would be ruined.” She was playing with the edge of his shirt now, running her fingers back and forth over the material, but having calmed down a bit.
“But nothing happened to him?” It would seriously piss him off if that asshole didn’t have any kind of punishment or shame over what he did with Tasha.
She shrugged. “He stayed for the rest of the year, but it really was such a short time left in the year. I could tell he was worried I’d talk. He ended up resigning, and last I heard, which was years ago, was that he moved out of Absinthe and was working at a different school.” She gave a humorless chuckle. “He probably screwed one of his students there, too.” She looked at him then. “I haven’t had contact with him, and don’t plan on it. That was a different time in my life, and I’m glad it’s over with concerning him.”