Best Kept Secret (Rochester Trilogy 3)

Beau joins me in the kitchen. “Did you finish?”

I’m working on reading assignments and essays. Those things I understand. It’s hard, but I can pour myself into school. I can get As, which makes me feel good. Beau takes me out to a fancy dinner in Dover every time I finish midterms.

The past few weeks have been different.

I was asked to give a talk to a group of girls in a group home. I wanted to say no. It felt like too much responsibility. Then I looked into Beau’s steady, storm-gray eyes, and I knew that it was exactly the right amount of responsibility. It would be hard, but I could do. I must do it, because those kids deserve my best.

Even if it means working through the night for a week.

Wordlessly, I hand over a sheet of paper.

I’ve written the speech a hundred times. Each time I scratch things out and rewrite. The wastebasket is filled with crumpled notebook paper.

Beau reads. His dark eyebrows go up. “Jane.”

“Is it bad?”

“Jane.”

“It’s the worst thing you’ve ever read.”

He looks at the paper again. “Only three percent of kids who age out of the foster care system ever get a college degree. I was going to be in that three percent even if it killed me… And it almost did kill me. That put things into perspective. College is important, but I learned that living’s important, too. Your life has value whether or not you have that piece of paper. I don’t want you to be part of the three percent. I want you to be part of the six percent. The twenty percent. I want you to change the number, but more than that, I want you to know that you matter. Your life matters. It can be hard to remember that when our mom or dad isn’t around to tell us. That’s why I’m here today. To tell you that I’m proud of you. You’re not a college diploma or a first-place medal from a track meet or a perfect attendance record. You’re not the sum total of your achievements. You’re a living, breathing person, and your value is simply… you. So strive and work and study, but know that already, already you’re enough.”

My cheeks are flushed pink by the time he finishes. “Beau.”

“You’re enough,” he murmurs, as if I might not know. Because I don’t. I told those kids what I needed to hear when I was their age. It’s still what I need to hear. “You’re perfect.”

He drags me into his arms, squeezing so tight I run out of air. It’s perfect. Exactly what I need. Always. Forever. “Love you,” I breathe out.

His hand slips beneath my soft, slouchy T-shirt. He speaks to me in the most private way, through the words he writes on my skin. L O V E Y O U T O O.

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