True for You(21)

A strange feeling washes over me as she continues to read, some words spoken quickly, but the majority sounded out like she’s never read in English before. I know my writing is pretty bad, the normal cursive and print mingling together to form chicken scratch, but how she’s reading… it reminds me of my housekeeper’s five-year-old son.

I take the notepad from her. Bliss meets my gaze, her cheeks pink. “What did you think?” I ask, not wanting to embarrass her further.

“I think you need to find a new muse, because this one can barely read,” she says flatly, her chin tipping up, like she’s daring me to say something incredibly insulting to her. Or she’s protecting herself.

Most likely it’s both, because I have been cruel to her in the not-so-distant past.

I close my eyes, and then open them. I’m such an incredibly selfish asshole, confined to thinking of only my jealousy or my needs. My desire to never be second again. “You didn’t want a college education, did you?”

She gives me a sad smile, and it kicks me right in the gut. “I wanted to learn how to read and do more than addition and subtraction. I hoped in a year or two to get my high school diploma. Cameron said that the program offered a real one, not just a GED.”

“When’s the last time you were in school, Bliss?” I dread her answer.

“I was sixteen. After my school records caught up with me, they stuck me in a remedial class,” she said. “The teachers were nice, but I kinda fell through the cracks. I was too quiet, and they were too busy taking care of behavior problems, so I got left alone a lot.”

I knew people like Bliss existed in this world, had done charities to help the poor and the disadvantaged, but until now, I’d never met someone who’d lived like her. At least Donna and her family had each other, and death benefits to see them through.

“What happened after that?”

“I ran away from the Coreys.”

I swallow. Do I want to know why? Do I want the responsibility of tracking down every asshole who ever hurt her and making their life miserable?

Her lower lip trembles, and her hands tremble along with it. Oh hell yes, I want that responsibility.

“Where did you go?”

She shrugs. “Away.”

“Bliss.”

“Cole Morgan’s momma let me stay with them for a while, until my last foster parents’ dealer came around looking for me. Then she said I had to leave, because it wasn’t safe for any of us.” She laughs, but it’s without humor. “Drug dealers hate it when their clients don’t pay up, or when their payment doesn’t stay put like a good girl.”

Stay put like a good girl? The sensation of bugs crawling over me light up my nerve endings. “Is he still looking for you?”

“He’s in jail and so are my former foster parents. Their kids are in foster care now,” she says. “I feel bad for their kids but anything’s better than living in that trailer with parents like those.”

I’m not sure what I’m supposed to say right now. Sorry doesn’t cut it, and besides, it would sound trite. Meaningless. So I put us on even ground instead.

“After I turned fourteen, Everett made me his new sparring partner in our gym. Only he didn’t use gloves or head gear.”

Her eyes grow big. “What did your momma do?”

What hadn’t she done? “Once, when I was three, she burned me with a curling iron for playing in her makeup.”



Chapter Eleven



Jackson

Bliss falls into her usual silence, staring at me for the longest time, until I start to get twitchy. I rub the back of my neck, wishing like hell I’d kept my mouth shut and not over-shared.

“We’re two of a kind, aren’t we?” she finally says. “I couldn’t find a family, and your real momma sold you to a family that abused you.”

“How do you know—?”

She drops her gaze, pulling up her legs and wrapping her arms around them. “I heard your dad talking on the phone, before I went in for my interview.”

Now that’s not something I want to hear. Yeah, Bliss isn’t blond enough or skinny enough for Everett’s taste, but I used to think Bliss wasn’t my type either. Or at least, that’s what I would tell myself, before I acknowledged the truth. I wanted Bliss then, and I want her now.

It almost makes me physically ill to think that my dad and Bliss could have—“Did he touch you or make you do things to—?”

Her head pops up. “No. The secretary gave him my resume, and he barely looked at it. I was hired on the spot while he talked on the phone.”

“And that’s it?”