Page 31 of Red Hot Roaster

“Nope, thank fuck. You get a new ID each time you advance in rank. And I was issued a final ID card with a current photo when I got out.”

“Huh. Not sentimental, are you?”

“Nope, not about my history.” I almost said,notwithmy history.

Rose was like a terrier. Once she got ahold of something, she wouldn’t let it go.

“I bet you looked like your mom. Except for the stubble, of course.” She reached over Princess, who was curled up on the couch between us, to rub the back of her right hand lightly along my jawline. “Oh. And, I guess, the scar.”

She paused and frowned, like she was puzzled, and drew back. I didn’t volunteer anything, didn’t want to tell her anything about that part of my life.

Instead, she asked the unexpected. “Do you have any pictures of her?”

I stayed frozen in my corner. I hadn’t anticipated her sudden touch—she hadn’t said a thing about the old knife scar until now. But the scars inside? Did I want her to know about those, about what’d happened to my mamma and me?

It was only fair if I expected to learn more about what’d happened to her.

“Nope. No photos. Mamma didn’t wake up one morning—I couldn’t wake her up, no matter what I did. I hugged her and held on to her, thinking maybe she’d gotten too cold overnight.”

I’ll never forget rubbing her cheeks—they were like the ice cubes in our freezer.

“Nothing I tried worked. I piled on blankets from my bed. I turned up the heat as high as it would go. I was responsible for her, and I couldn’t get her to wake up.”

“Rafe, you were only a little boy!”

“No, Rose. I was responsible for my mamma, and I let her down.”

I sucked in an unsteady breath.Why was this so hard to tell?

“I finally got scared enough to run to the next apartment. The neighbor lady called 911, and they came. There was nothing they could do either—she was already gone. She’d been sick a lot, but we didn’t have the money for a doctor or medicine. Barely had enough for food.”

Rose let out a painedohhh, but I shook my head and plowed on.

“When I couldn’t give them any family to contact, the medics took Mamma away in an ambulance. The neighbor stayed with me and called my school. I found out later the school counselor called Child Protective Services to say I was alone. Later that same day, one of their people showed up at the apartment. She put my clothes in a plastic garbage bag and took me to a temporary foster home. I guess the landlord sold or dumped the rest of our stuff.”

Rose’s eyes were glistening, and I knew what she was going to say.

“Why were you so on your own? I get that your father wasn’t around. But what about your grandparents? On either side?”

So, I gave her the full story. At least, the beginning of the story. I’d leave the darker details of my years in foster care, gang activities and war zones until later. Or never.

“When I was about six, I started asking Mamma where my dad was. Why I didn’t have a dad like the other kids at school. She played it cool—although it must’ve hurt. She said he’d loved me very much but had passed away when I was a baby. She also said all my grandparents lived far away and that we couldn’t afford to visit each other. She even mentioned a younger brother—I got the sense he was still in middle school—my uncle, that I might get to meet someday.

“This all made sense when I was little. But I figured things out later. My mother must have gotten pregnant when she was young—so innocent and naïve. She probably thought she was in love, and then the guy took off on her. Her family was Catholic, so abortion was not in the cards. They probably wanted her to put me up for adoption. She must’ve refused, and they disowned her, cut off all ties. It’s as cold as it sounds.”

Rose got up on her knees, pushed Princess off the couch and scooted up to my side. She stroked my jaw again, gently, and laid her fingers on my lips to silence me. She looked into my eyes for a moment and leaned in to wrap her arms tightly around my shoulders and put her cheek on my chest.

We sat there, close like that, quiet like that, for some time.

Chapter 17

Rose

It was Sunday morning, and I was trying to sleep in. And by sleep in, I meant stay in bed until at least seven, not my customary five thirty. Even when I wasn’t opening, my internal alarm clock roused me at that time.

I’d been wide-eyed awake for a good part of the night, obsessing over everything Rafe had revealed. After he’d shared his story, I’d invaded his space before I’d even thought about it. Rafe’d gone rigid—not in the good way—and then finally hugged me back. We’d hung on to each other, not kissing, just quiet, until we’d said ourgoodnights.

So yeah, this morning, I’d granted myself permission to indulge in a bout of “sleeping-in.”

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