Page 73 of Wicked Minds
His smile is small but genuine as he inches closer until his thigh presses against mine, our fingers interlocking where they rest on his knee.
“Have you eaten?” I ask, nudging the tray toward him.
“Hey, I bought that for you,” Logan pouts.
“You have zero concept of how much a regular person eats,” I tell him, pointing a fry in his face as Royce chuckles under his breath. “There’s plenty to go around.”
“So,” Logan begins in between bites. “You brought it up this morning, and I didn’t get the chance to ask you about it, but why does Aurora live with your mom?”
I glance warily around the food court in case anyone is listening in on our conversation.
Catching on, Logan leans in and lowers his voice. “Do you not want to talk about her here?”
“No, it’s fine. I’d just gotten used to not talking about her so freely.” Logan’s mouth curls in dislike as Royce’s nostrils flare. “And probably best that the entire campus doesn’t know, but no one’s listening. If we keep our voices low, we’re fine.” Fiddling with my fork, my stomach churns with unpleasant memories as I attempt to explain, “I was sixteen when I had Aurora. A minor. My mom had already played off everything with Bertram as attention seeking, and the nurses had made her aware of my, uh, scars.” I swallow roughly. “Once Aurora was born, Mom used that to have me declared unfit and herself instated as Aurora’s primary guardian.”
“Okay, but that was back then,” Logan says, looking confused. “What about now?”
“Mom won’t willingly hand her over to me, and court cases cost money. I was able to save enough last year to consult a lawyer, and he essentially said it would be a waste of money.”
Logan growls in disgust. “Fighting to gain custody of your child is awaste of money?”
“Why did he say that?” Royce asks, sounding much more reasonable. Only there’s an unmistakable hint of violence simmering beneath his words.
“I was a high school graduate living at home with my mom and working two dead-end jobs with no money or prospects. He said no judge in their right mind would choose me, even though I’m Aurora’s biological mother.”
“But you’re hermom,” Logan emphasizes, looking simultaneously pissed and confused.
I just shrug, not having an answer for him. It is what it is… and yup, Logan’s right, thathasbecome my mentality to everything in life.
“So that’s why you’re here,” Royce muses before Logan can start into the tirade I see forming.
I nod. “Yup. I’m going to get a degree and a secure job, and I’m going to save the money to hire a team of lawyers. Whatever it takes to get her back.”
Logan’s mouth opens as he goes to say something, but one look from Royce and his jaw snaps shut.
“I don’t doubt for a second that you’ll achieve it,” Royce says instead. At the sincerity in his voice, I peer up at him with a smile.
“Thank you.”
It feels really nice to have someone believe in me.
An hour later, when we’ve finished lunch, Logan walks me to my next class. However, before I can untangle my hand from his, he whips me around, his fingers sinking into my hair as he cups the back of my head, pulling on the strands until I stare up at him. His other hand grasps my hip, tugging me flush against him as his lips descend on mine.
Flames erupt, and I happily burn to ash in their wake.
I’m breathless and soaked by the time we pull apart, my voice raspy as I ask, “What was that for?”
He huffs out a laugh. “I couldn’t let you go without leaving you with the reminder of how fucking perfect we are together.”
The tingling of my lips agrees with him.
“Get to class, Shortcake. I’ll see you after.”
Nodding, I watch as he saunters down the hall before I turn toward my classroom. Movement out of the corner of my eye has my head snapping to the side, spotting Grayson standing at the far end of the hall in the opposite direction to where Logan disappeared.
His eyes burn into me, simmering with a possessiveness that I need to look away from. Instead, I scour his face, searching for any signs he remembers showing up at my door last night. Helooks like crap after his bender, with dark shadows under his eyes and his hair ruffled in a way I haven’t seen before. Like he rolled out of bed, giving zero shits about his appearance before heading to campus.
Catching me staring, his eyes narrow into their familiar hostility, and I find it impossible to compute the man in front of me with the drunk version sitting outside my door, telling me he kept a scrunchie I wore four years ago and that he broke some guy’s nose because he liked me.
