Page 75 of Forbidden Love Still Blooms

“What, us being in love?” he asks.

“You're the dad—uncle—whatever of the guy trying to force me to marry him.” I laugh morbidly, my nose and head burning, but no tears well up. I'm too confused to cry. “You're a lot older than me. What will everyone think if we don't hide our feelings?”

“I don't care what anyone thinks,” he says with conviction. “You told me once that I was confident in everything I do. This is no different.”

“I wish I felt as sure.”

“Let me help you,” he says, fingers weaving in my hair until my scalp tingles. He kisses me hard, like he's an asteroid that plummeted into the ground. I'm out of oxygen but he doesn't stop, doesn't hold back until I go limp. Finally, he gasps, breaking away. He looks feverish as he growls, “I love you enough for both of us. Let everyone in the world see us, insult us, call us despicable. I'll shield you from all of that, sweet bird. Our love, this forbidden life, has been growing in secret without sunlight or water. Anddespite that,its thorns are sharp, its tendrils burst as wildly as these roses. It is beautiful and proud, and it doesn't need anything butusto make it bloom.”

The dam behind my eyes breaks. My heart goes next, overflowing in my chest until my cells are soaked with pure joy. Jordan loves me. He means it in every turn of his tongue, every tilt of his lips. His soul burns for mine. And he's right—in the light of our love, we're blooming.

I knew dark things could flourish in secret.

Now I know our hearts can do the same.

Chapter 25

I'malonewhenmyphone rings. Jordan left to handle work related things an hour ago. I was delighted to hear he'd returned to his architecture work, and that his former partners were eager to have him back. Jordan credited me for clearing his grief enough to focus on drawing again. I didn't know if that was true, it felt strange to think I'd helped him with something so personal.

But then again … with what he'd said to me about my art, I could understand.

I answer my phone, thinking it's my mother, seeing the number before it's too late. “Hey,” Dez says on the line, “Good, you answered.”

“What do you want?” I ask curtly.

“Money.”

“I'm not shocked,” I mumble.

“You shouldn't be, little miss big wedding. What the hell is that all about anyway? Never mind, I don't care. Just bring three grand to the police station, you're gonna bail out Chico and Jake.”

Anger flashes through my gut—I hiss into the phone. “They're your problem, not mine.”

“My problemsareyour problems, you dumb bitch. Get over there. Now.” His tone grows colder. “Unless you thinkIshould take the trip? Maybe the cops wanna hear about how worried I am that my fiancée’s dear old dad hasn't been seen in some time.”

Bristling, I make myself talk calmer. “I get it. Fine. I'll go.”

“Thanks, babe. You're a peach.”

I hang up before he does, but that doesn't give me much satisfaction. “Dammit,” I whisper. No one's around to hear me speak. I can scream if I want, but my body is on autopilot.Have to get the money. Have to be quiet.It's how it's always been, this time I won't be treated differently.

Walking towards the kitchen on stiff legs, I stand in the threshold. The room is bright from the light bulbs above and the sun outside. Secrets feel better when performed in darkness.

My eyes jump over the sea glass studded tiles I made. They're at my shoulder height. Dad hated that I grew taller than him by age sixteen. I never believed I'd hate him at all. All the ways he let me down were easy to forgive—he'd been decent most of my life, why couldn't he return to that? Instead, it got worse.

The first time he put a hole in this wall was because I'd told him I wanted to go to college. I hadn't asked him for any of the money he'd won six months before, not a dime. But I needed him to sign paperwork so I could apply for loans. I just wanted to open the discussion.

His reaction … it was like I'd tried to slit his throat. I didn't know he was already wasted, that he'd been slipping nips of brandy all day, until he stood up from the table and fell over. I'd caught him, trying to help him stand.“Don't touch me!”he'd roared.“You think you're better than me? Gonna go off to college and leave me to take care of everything here? Of your mom, all by my fucking self? Or do you expect me to hire someone to help out? You think it can all be solved with money, Lori. MY money. Is that it?”

None of my heartfelt assurances reached his ears. He'd marched into the kitchen, pacing, spit flying from his lips as he rambled. He wanted to hit me. My father had enough humanity left to swing for the wall instead. The original tiles shattered; plaster crunched. Then he looked me in the eye and said,“You get nothing unless I give it.”He left to go drink elsewhere after that. And I could have hoped he died in a drunk-driving accident, but I didn't. I still had love and hope for him.

I also had a righteous sense of justice burning in my veins.

It grew each time he punched a new hole. With every act of rage he displayed, I stole some of his money. Six times total. I would have stolen more, but he stashed the majority of lottery winnings in the bank in an account neither my mom nor I could access. Still, his pocket-change added up. I felt a thrill crafting each pretty ceramic tile to cover the wounds in the kitchen wall.

My secret grievance caches.

Thanks to Dezmond's selfish actions, my money is gone.

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