Page 63 of Trailer Park Billionaire
I slurp some of the broth, enjoying the feeling of making Ben Lyon speechless, even if it’s just for a moment.
“My grandpa went away when I was fourteen,” I elaborate, my voice quieter than before. “He got five years and, because he was my guardian, I got placed in foster care.”
“What about your parents?”
I snort softly. “Well, they were big believers in the whole dying early thing. Very committed to the cause. Wait, that sounds wrong. They didn’t commit suicide. My mom died when I was three, and my dad, the old grump, died in a car accident when I was thirteen. Just bad luck, I guess.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No need. It’s not like you killed them.” I shrug and sigh. “Anyway, my grandpa, in an attempt to take care of me, took up odd jobs because we needed the money. One of them was the Gentileschi job, and you know how that turned out. After my grandpa went away, I got mad. And then I got madder. And then I got reckless. I was young and dumb and started actingout. I stole things. Petty theft at first—a lipstick here, some gum there. But that wasn’t enough. Because I was really fucking angry, and I needed that anger to go somewhere.” It’s getting harder to breathe suddenly, but I still continue. “So I decided to get back at the people responsible for putting my grandpa away. He obviously was caught up in some shady dealings, and he certainly wasn’t innocent, but they—the St. Clairs—managed to walk away free by blaming all of it on him.”
Ben’s jaw tightens, but he stays silent, listening.
“They took him from me, so I decided to take something from them.”
I don’t have to look at him to feel his attention sharpening.
“So… I burned down their house.”
Ben exhales sharply.
“And then I trashed their gallery.”
“Holy shit.”
“Yeah, police caught me at the scene. The second one. I went away for a couple of years. And in prison, you learn things. Chichi was one of them. You make do with what you have—crushed chips, ramen, cheese, whatever you can scrounge up.”
Ben is still processing all of it.
“Anyway, that’s not why I told you this story. I’m telling you because… you know how people get out earlier on good behavior? I did not.”
“But… you’re not like that.”
“I’m not like thatanymore. Because of my routine. It’s what my grandpa taught me. To not listen to others or to my intrusive thoughts. Instead, I just follow my routine. Every day. That way, I stay away from bad decisions. Which keeps me away from getting into trouble. Which keeps me away from?—”
“Prison,” Ben finishes my sentence.
I nod and glance at him. “My routine is like the most boring superhero. But it does keep me safe.”
He’s staring at me like he’s seeing me for the first time, and I don’t know if it’s fear, or worry, or… something else entirely. But it makes my chest feel even tighter than it already did.
“That must have been hard to share,” he says eventually. “Even harder to go through.”
Which is when I notice that our feet are touching, have been touching since I sat down. I don’t even like physical contact. I should probably pull away. But I don’t. Instead, I meet his eyes, and for the first time since meeting him, it feels like neither of us is trying to be something we’re not. He’s not hiding behind his persona, not even behind his charm, or smile; and I’m not shutting everyone and the world out. I allow them in. Or rather just one of them. Even if it’s just for a glimpse.
And then, like a slow-burn fuse finally reaching the dynamite, the tension explodes. He puts his bowl of ramen down and uses those strong hands to push me into the sofa cushions while his lips find mine.
At least, that’s what he does in my imagination.
In reality, Ben just swallows hard, his eyes lingering on those lips of mine before he finally says, “So tell me about your routine then. I want to know everything.”
And that, I do. I tell him when I usually go to bed, when I get up, what I eat, when I work, and everything else that plays a factor. Ben listens carefully, asking questions about which things I’m flexible on and which need to stay in place. I tell him about how, after a couple of years, I managed to loosen the routine a little… and how that inevitably landed me here.
He assures me that none of this is my fault, and that he’ll do everything he can to accommodate my needs while keeping me safe. When I yawn, Ben suddenly jumps up.
“You need to sleep! We have to get a move on early tomorrow!” He checks his watch and pulls me up from the couch. I bump into him and almost fall over before he steadiesme in his arms. “You should get ready for bed,” he says, as the scent of sandalwood is hitting me. We’ve been out all day. I probably smell of sweat and ramen. Why does he still smell so delicious?
“I’ll be outside in my RV. Lock the door after me.”
