Page 59 of Making the King

Shit. Where do I start?

“Uh…” I say feeling clueless on how to explain myself. I’m not used to talking about my feelings like this, but I want her to trust me, so I need to level the playing field. “I guess your question made me feel dumb, because I… uhhh…”

She cracks her lid open again. “You can tell me. I promise I’ll never use it against you or think any less of you.”

I’m meant to be this big bad tough guy, yet all I am is a street thug pretending to be more. She says she won’t think less of me, but it’s inevitable. The truth will show her exactly who I am.

The question is, does it matter? Do I think she’ll look at me differently?

Even as I think it, I don’t believe it. Cara is not a trivial person. She doesn’t care for social standards or norms. The only thing she was raised to do is support her husband, so let’s hope she still has that part inside her.

Shit. I need to tell her. It’s the only way to move things forward.

“Can you look at me while I tell you?” I ask as she peers up through the minuscule crack of her lid. “With both eyes.”

Slowly she nods. “I’ll look at you and nothing else.” She breathes and I feel pride bloom inside me.

She’s so strong.

Prying both lids open wider, she looks up at me as droplets of the shower spray around us.

“I… uh… never learned any languages because I didn’t go to school much after my tenth birthday.”

Her brows shoot up. “Homeschool?” she asks and I shake my head.

“No, I… lived on the streets.”

Her eyes round with pity, but she doesn’t insult me by telling me how sorry she is or saying you poor thing. No. She keeps asking questions.

“So you were homeless?” When I nod, she asks. “Were you alone on the streets or with a parent?”

“It was just me. I don’t have parents.” I sigh, feeling a little more at ease with telling her this now that I’m finally doing it. “I’m an orphan.”

She nods. “Foster carers?”

“Only abusive ones.” I admit, and her brows hitch high. “I managed to get away eventually, and I never went back. For most of those years after, the other street kids knew me only as Rocco. No one knew my full name, and it wasn’t until I was fourteen that I came across Dante, Luke, and Baz. At the time they were living it up as surfers, and they made sure I never went hungry. When Dante was twenty-one Luke got killed, and he transformed into a vigilante who stuck up for those who couldn’t stick up for themselves. That’s when he formed the Diamond Crew, and I never looked back.”

She nods, her steel gaze roaming my face like she’s making sure every inch is locked in her memory.

“What sort of abuse did you suffer?”

I tense at her words. I never expected her to ask that. I’m not sure why. She is a curious woman. Probably because she has so much to learn since her background was a lie.

Cara has been through some horrific abuses of her own. Her scars tell that story. But I’ve never spoken the words of my abuse out loud to anyone.

I can never…

I shake my head, flashes of a time I want to forget bombarding my brain.

“I can’t,” I whisper and her eyes turn glassy.

“Were you… Did they…” She struggles to finish, but that doesn’t matter because I know what she’s trying to ask.

“Please don’t ask me to say the words out loud, hermosa.” I plead, because if I do, I think I will break. And if I break, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to be put back together.

The burning at the back of my eyes is an unfamiliar sensation. I’ve not felt it since the day I ran, and never looked back.

Cara’s gentle hand comes up to cup my cheek, “Rocco. I won’t ask you to say it, but it will help me if I can confirm it.”

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