But as he’d told her, he’d try. And bailing at the first opportunity to trust didn’t count as trying.
Her soft weight resting against him helped ground the tumultuous feelings. She gazed at him with compassion and care. It was…nice. Comforting without feeling smothering. He’d been with many women over the years. Hell, he was a thirty-eight-year-old man who’d never had a relationship last more than a year. And he liked to fuck. That meant a fair number of bed partners, but this was the first time he could recall feeling better about himself because a woman merely sat with him.
Clearing his throat, he set his hands on her thighs and forced himself to begin. “We’ve talked a little about my mom, but she was amazing. Sweet, hardworking, always trying to make the best out of life. She got pregnant with me at seventeen before she’d finished high school. Her parents didn’t care much about her, and she ended up dropping out of school and marrying my dad, who you know is a raging, abusive alcoholic.” He met her somber gaze. “I’m sorry. Is this too much?”
A soft smile greeted him. “No, Keith. If there’s one thing I learned in my months of rehab and therapy, it’s that I cannot hide from myself or my actions. I abused alcohol and drugs. It’s my reality. Hearing what I could have become I not dug myself out of the pit only strengthens my resolve. Besides, this isn’t about me. I’d want to hear your story regardless of whether it was difficult for me.”
He cupped her smooth face between his beat-up hands and kissed her long, slow, and sweet. It wasn’t the type of kiss he usually shared with women as it didn’t lead anywhere but to a smile and a flip of his stomach. But in some ways, it was even better than a dirty, sloppy, lead-to-sex kiss. When it ended, she rubbed her nose against his before straightening as though to urge him to continue.
Fuck, he hated tearing the sutures off these old wounds.
“Both my parents grew up in shit—they themselves were products of teenage parents with no education, money, or love for their kids. My mom tried so hard to be different and to give us a different life even though we were dirt poor. It was hard for her to work with so many kids and without a high school degree. My dad worked odd jobs but spent the majority of his earnings on booze. When she could, my mom cleaned houses and always made sure every penny of her earnings went to us, even if it pissed off my father.”
Revealing the parts of his past he never let himself relive felt like taking a paring knife to his skin. The agony almost had him swallowing the words back down. But Michaela sat without an ounce of judgment in her gaze, patiently waiting for him to be ready to continue.
He ran a hand down his face, pausing to scratch a non-existent itch in his beard. Anything to prolong the morbid story of his life.
“Mom was always promising Dad would change. That one day, he’d turn over a new leaf. Always swearing things would be different—better. She constantly swore we’d have more soon. The money would roll in soon. God, I grew to hate the word soon word. The old man never bothered with the lip service. He was and is content being a miserable fucker. I think for her it was more of a wish for us than a promise. But as a kid, I couldn’t help but hope every time she said the word soon.”
Hope was the most agonizing memory of all. The countless times when he’d been young and naïve enough to believe things would change. Once, when he’d been eleven and old enough to take care of his younger siblings by himself, she’d been able to get a steady job cleaning rooms at a local motel. She’d promised to take them to Disney with the money she’d be able to save. At the time, he’d been too young to understand the financial mountain of such a promise. Regardless, he’d spent the following week on cloud nine, imagining his entire family laughing and smiling in the happiest place on earth. Ten days later, he returned home from school to find his mom sitting at the table with a black eye while his dad stuffed his pockets with the money she’d been keeping in a coffee jar.
The trip never happened. To this day, he’d never been to Disney World.
“Keith?” Mickie prodded in a gentle voice.
He blinked. “Sorry. Lost in the past.”
She cupped his cheek. The subtle stroking of her fingers through his beard had him wanting to purr like a spoiled cat. Who knew that would be a sweet spot?