This lust.
And one burning question.
“Does that mean you forgive me?” I clasp his shirt into my fist, drawing a long, conflicted breath out of him.
He nods.
“I forgive you.”
I smile, over the moon.
He presses his forehead to mine. “What you did was fucked-up, but I can’t blame you for wanting to know more about me. I haven’t exactly been an open book, and… frankly, if I’d received a text saying you were staying at some motel, I would’ve gone and checked, too.”
His admission relieves me.
Is he finally ready to open up to me?
“In that case, I have questions.”
He sighs, tucking his hands into his pockets.
“I figured you would. Which is why I got Ethan to cover your shift.”
“What?” I pull back. “How?”
Ethan hates working on weekends. Will must’ve spun him one hell of a tale.
“Told him you were feeding the homeless, which, in a way, you are.”
What on earth?
“Come on, hop in the shower, put on something pretty. I have to go get my car. Pick you up in an hour.” He dashes toward the exit.
“That’s it? You’re not going to tell me what we’re doing?”
I watch him swing the door open, dumbfounded.
“You wanted to see my life, didn’t you?”
He shoulder-checks me.
“Well, I’m taking you right into it.”
Kassidy
Will briefs me on our plans for the day halfway to our secret destination. Turns out when he told me we were feeding the homeless, he meant…
Having lunch with his mom.
I scold him for his crude comparison, swatting him in the arm and kindling the following reply: “Trust me, if I didn’t laugh about it, I wouldn’t last a day.”
I understand him better now. The jokes, the snarky replies. He uses humor as a defense mechanism. I replay his words, picking them apart one by one.
“If your mom is homeless, where are we meeting her?”
He shifts in the driver’s seat, taking a right. “Well, technically, she isn’t homeless. Just doesn’t have a permanent address. She’s crashing at a friend’s trailer until the beginning of the summer.”
“Then where will she go?”
“I’m sure she’ll find something. Bounce around between places for a while, probably.” He shrugs as though this is old news.
And it is.
To him, at least.
That’s his life. Has been since he was a kid.
“I take it you don’t live together?”
He scoffs. “Fuck no. I’d lose my mind. She stayed in my motel room last weekend, and I nearly went off my rocker just from that.”
The truth sinks into my stomach like an anchor. This explains why he had to leave early. He was checking on her.
“So, you live in motels?”
All this time, whenever he left, I imagined him going back to a picture-perfect house. Thought he had a nice, comfy place to lay his head. A home. And all this time, he didn’t.
“Mostly, yeah. Depends how tight the money is. I spent the past month at some abandoned gym where the guys and I train.”
His unbothered attitude is unsettling—disturbing. He says it like it’s normal, while I want to cry just imagining him freezing in an abandoned building.
“Don’t,” he says in a husky voice.
My head snaps up.
“Don’t look at me like that. Please.”
Shit.
Be more transparent, why don’t you, Kass?
His jaw twitches. “If you pity me, then I’ll start pitying myself, and I… I can’t go there.”
“I’m sorry.” I blink back tears.
I can’t help my trembling lip.
He winces at my bloodshot eyes. “Baby, stop. I’m fine, I promise.” His right hand leaves the wheel, enclosing mine. “I never go hungry, I have clothes, a phone, a car. The fights pay well, and as soon as my mom gets her shit together, I’ll be able to afford a place. Don’t worry about me, okay?”
I recall what he said to his mother at the motel: “You drained everything! Four fucking grand. Gone in a matter of days!”
Does he pay for her… substances?
“So, you give your winnings from every fight to your mom?”
“Yeah, I keep a third of it, but she needs it more than I do.”
I hate how angry that makes me. I tell myself I’m in no place to judge, but I can’t quiet the nagging voice in my head. Let me get this straight—a grown-ass woman is living on her eighteen-year-old’s son back? And she squanders the money he brings home on drugs?
Once again, he reads me like an open book.
“I know how this sounds, but she just needs a push to get her life back on track. She’s trying.”
“So, she has a job?” I question.
“Not yet, but she’s looking. She promised me she would.”
Everything about this screams toxic to me, but I keep my mouth shut, strictly refusing to form an opinion on his mother until I give her a chance.
“Do the guys know about this?”
His features darken at the mention of his friends. “Only Kendrick does. I’m not close enough with Alex to tell him.”
I often forget how close these two are.
“We’re almost there.” He changes the topic, leading my left hand to his mouth to lay a kiss on my knuckles as he drives.
We pull into an isolated trailer park five minutes later, driving down a bumpy, narrow road. I watch as mobile homes flow past the car windows, some in better shape than others, the majority run-down and decrepit. I know better than to think all trailer parks are poorly maintained, but this one fits square into the stereotype.
Will’s car comes to a stop in front of a worn-out, white trailer addressed 50. A metallic gray car sits in the driveway, making Will pause. He frowns, killing the engine and narrowing his eyes to catch a glimpse of the license plate.
“What the…” I hear him say.
That’s when a man stumbles out of the trailer, a beer in his left hand. He inspects his surroundings like a criminal.
“Stay in the car,” Will spits, the frost in his voice making it clear he’s not asking and rushes out of the vehicle without so much as a warning. I roll the window down just in time to hear him bark, “What
