Page 72 of Hot Damn
“Two.”
He drops two slices of bread in the toaster then turns and leans on the edge of the counter behind him, his hands gripping the edge on either side of his thighs. “Talk to me.”
“About?”
“Anything. You. Your job. Rogue sportswear. The Rogues. Whatever.”
“We’re the same age.” Why I blurted that out, I don’t know.
“Are we?”
“Yeah, you’re thirty-three. Right?”
“Yes. Thirty-four in December.”
“So you’re older than me by a few months.”
“Oh? When’s your birthday?”
“May twenty-first.”
He cocks his head. “You seem unsure of that.”
I shrug. “Kind of am. Dad had to have records searched to find out because my biological mother birthed me at home and didn’t register me.”
“Your biological…you’re adopted?”
“No. Dad is my dad. Mom is my step-mom because my birth mother refused to sign over rights for her to adopt me.” I sigh. “It’s a long, long, crazy story that I might tell you about some time.”
“When did you move in with your dad?”
“I was eight when the courts awarded him custody.”
“And you’ve lived with him since?”
“Yes.”
“Thanks for sharing that with me.”
Shrugging again, I look away.
Beckett’s next words have me turning back to look at him. “Whitney thinks her mother died before she was two, and she did, but I’ve never told her how her mother died.”
“I’m sure it’s hard for you to talk about.” I slowly sit up. It feels like I should be upright for this conversation.
“Not the way you’d think.”
“Oh?”
“Whitney’s mother was my high school counselor.”
He leaves the words hanging. And my sleepy pain-numbed brain takes a full minute to understand the importance of his words.
My eyes pop wide and my mouth drops open.
“Yeah, that’s a sordid scandal if ever there was one.”
“But, but… Holy shit, Beckett. Tell me the woman went to jail!” The fury rolling through my pain-ravaged muscles annihilates every other emotion except the need to find the woman who took advantage of him when he was just a kid.
