Into Your Arms (Squad Stories #1)(70)

       
        

"No, I don't," I say and he wins the next hand.

"Okay. Just checking. Because if you wanted to, you could. I might understand you better than you know." I narrow my eyes. What is he talking about? Has he figured me out? There's no way. I mean, I didn't say anything about the fact that I'm adopted. But I guess, maybe, me having a breakdown when he told me that he was in the foster system might lead him to that conclusion.

Fuck.

I might be busted. There's only one way to get him off the current line of inquiry. I throw my cards down and lunge at him, latching my lips to his. He pushes me away.

"You really need to stop using sex to avoid talking about things you don't want to talk about," he says, his face so close to mine that his face is blurry. His hand is on my chest, and I am so tempted to shove my hand down his pants and keep trying, but that might only make things worse.

"I'm not," I say, sticking my tongue out and licking his lips.

"Freya," he says, pushing me a little more firmly.

"What?" I say, sitting back on my heels. "I don't like to talk about things, okay? What's wrong with that? What's wrong with not telling everyone every single bit of my personal life?" Now I'm pissed. Some of the cards scatter on the floor.

Rhett sighs and looks at the ceiling, as if he's begging for mercy.

"I'm not saying you have to do that, Freya. No one is asking you to do that. I just want you trust me. To share things with me. I know you don't share things with anyone. You're a safe that no one knows the combination to. It's fine to keep things to yourself, but it's also good to share things with someone. Share your secrets so they're not so heavy. Let someone else in." I want to get up and storm out, but then he continues.

"Are you sure you're ready for this? I told you some things before, and it didn't go well." I feel ashamed of myself.

"I know. And I'm sorry about that. But I'm here now. And I'm listening." He waits for a moment, giving me one last out. I stay.

"My story isn't pretty, so here goes: my parents died in a car crash when I was six months old. Drunk driver. I didn't have any relatives or anyone to take custody of me, so I was put into foster care. I've lost count of the number of homes I was in. When I was a teenager, I got myself into a lot of trouble and finally ended up in a group home." I can't breathe. I can't breathe and I can't move.

"I aged out. And I had a teacher that was nice to me and helped me get into college here. Helped me with financial aid, all of it. Inspired me to do something for kids like me. So there you go. That's my story." He licks his lips and takes a shaky breath. I try to take one, but my chest is too tight. I try again and finally manage it. 

"Oh," I say. Such an insufficient syllable for everything he's just given me. I don't know what to say. What to do.

Rhett has handed me something precious and fragile, and I don't deserve it. I'm so awful to him and he's been nothing but wonderful and I really don't deserve it. What did I do to get him to notice me and want to keep spending time with me? It can't just be the sex, which is incredible.

"Why?" I finally manage.

"Because I trust you. Because I want you to know everything about me. The good stuff and the bad stuff. And because to get someone to trust you, sometimes you have to show them how. So there. You can ask me absolutely anything, and I'll tell you. Because I trust you and I care about you, Luna." The nickname is like a shard of ice in my chest. This is too much.

"I don't know what to do," I say.

"That's okay. Neither do I." He smiles and my chest starts feeling a little less tight. How can a simple smile do so much?

"I'm a little fucked up, Rhett. I don't know if you know that," I admit.

His smile widens for some reason.

"All the best people are."

* * *

After that, things are a little awkward. I want to fuck, but it seems too intimate after what he told me. So he suggests ice cream, which I take him up on.

"What . . . what was it like?" I ask. Now that I've gotten over my initial shock about him (no breakdown this time!), I'm curious. Because I could have been him. I could've been the one tossed from foster home to foster home. I have no idea if I would have been better off. Maybe a home would have been good and they would have loved me. Maybe Mia's family would have really adopted me and I could have been her sister and they could have been my parents. Maybe.

Or maybe not. I don't have a crystal ball. All I have is the life I was given and the potential for a new one.

"What was what like?" he asks, coming back with two bowls and a tub of ice cream, whipped cream, sprinkles and maraschino cherries. He's really gone all out. Like he was expecting this or something.