They all saw what I allowed them to see.
None of them saw the emptiness of the huge house I lived in. The meals I ate alone since my father couldn’t be bothered to sit down with me. No one knew of the holidays I spent by myself, the forgotten birthdays, or the constant criticism I lived with. They didn’t know the strict rules my father enforced on me—or the punishments I suffered if I broke them. Franklin Thomas demanded perfection in everything I did, and when I fell short, he liked to show his displeasure.
With his fists.
I had a small social circle, very few friends, and a life I hated.
Except for one thing.
A secret I kept hidden from everyone, loathing the fact that I had to, but needing to do so to protect her. To protect us.
The image of rich brown eyes and long, soft curls the color of the sunset filtered through my mind.
Sunny Jenson.
The first girl I had ever liked—had liked for as long as I could remember. When my mother was alive, she thought it was the sweetest thing and encouraged it. My father knew nothing about it.
Sunny was my best friend in grade school, my sidekick in junior high, and now so much more. It happened naturally, without fanfare or thought. People were used to seeing us together. I knew they talked, but I didn’t care. All I cared about was her.
I walked her home one night after a school function, knowing she didn’t like the dark. We stopped at the park, and she sat down on a swing.
“Push me!”
I settled my hands on her hips and shoved her forward, stepping aside to let her go as high as she wanted. She laughed in the darkness, soaring up and back, slowly letting the momentum die and returning to the sand where I waited. I reached out and gripped the metal chains, halting her movements.
“Fun?” I teased.
She grinned, her eyes shining in the moonlight. Suddenly, I noticed things I had never seen before. The swell of her tits, the way her hair tumbled over them. How soft her skin looked. How much I wanted to touch it. Our eyes met and held, and before I knew what I was doing, I bent down and kissed her. Fumbling, awkward, and perfect. When I pulled back, she smiled.
“Be my girl,” I begged.
She wrapped her hand around my neck. “I already am, Linc. I already am.”
Sunny Jenson became my own personal ray of sunlight. I was her protector, her best friend, and the boy head over heels for her.
She was a five-foot-nothing dynamo with eyes like melted chocolate. Tiny and delicate, she looked as if a strong wind could blow her over. But my girl was as tough as nails. Smart, funny, and sweet.
I had been looking forward to being at the shelter, which was around the corner from the diner where she usually worked all summer, in addition to her shifts at the grocery store.
My father detested her—anyone like her. Anything good and right, he looked at with derision and loathing, and with his announcement, he had just stolen that bit of happiness.
I wanted to talk to her, to call her and vent my frustrations. Hearing her gentle voice would help calm me down, but I couldn’t do that.
Sunny came from the wrong side of the small town where we lived. Her mother worked as a maid at the large hotel on the edge of the city limits. Owned, of course, by my father. A lot of the care of her two younger sisters fell on Sunny, and she adored them. Between school, her two jobs, caring for her sisters, and her volunteering at the shelter, it was hard for us to find time together, but we managed. Money was tight for her, and Sunny didn’t come with the trappings that other girls her age did. There was no expensive clothing. She didn’t wear makeup. She rode her bike, took the bus, or walked everywhere she went, and she didn’t own a cell phone. Every penny she made went toward saving for university tuition and helping her mother.
I wanted to get her a cell phone, but my father tracked all my bills, and I couldn’t risk him finding out about her. He would end it and make life hell for her mother. I wouldn’t do that to her or her family. Sunny wasn’t someone he would ever approve of. She wasn’t the “right” kind of people.
I remembered the day he walked into my room, without knocking or caring he was interrupting me. He tossed a box of condoms onto my dresser.
“You’re fifteen. I’m sure you know how to use your dick. Wrap it. I don’t want any other mistakes ruining my life.” He paused in the doorway. “Dip your wick wherever you want, but don’t bring them here and don’t get attached. I have plans, and you’re going to fucking carry them out.”