“Why?”
“She told me about how she and your father got together. Or at least, the gist of it. I think there was way more to the story than she told me.”
“She told you?”
He chuckled. “Your father was harping at me, and she got mad. Told him he needed to remember how they started. Then she dropped that bombshell. Your dad shut up pretty fast.”
“Oh.”
“You have to tell me the whole story one day.” He took the bottle from my hand. “But not tonight. You need some rest. Do you think you can sleep?”
“Will you stay?”
He pressed a kiss to my forehead. “Yes. I’ll be right here, Gracie. You won’t be alone.”
“Okay.”
He lay beside me, pulling me into his arms. There was a dim light on in the corner, casting the room in a cozy glow. I shut my eyes, but the images from earlier kept coming back, and I was unable to relax. I turned in Jaxson’s embrace, and he kissed my head as he ran long, lingering passes up and down my back.
“Sleep, Grace.”
“I can’t.” I paused. “Why was my father upset at you? You came and helped me.”
“Because I never called him to tell him you were okay. They saw the news a little while after I did. They called you, but there was no answer. They, like me, were terrified you were trapped in the building. When I answered your phone at the hospital, your dad cursed me out, and frankly, he was right.” He tightened his grip on me. “I never thought to call him. To call anyone. I have never had that sort of responsibility before. A family. A group of people that would care.”
I studied his face. There was pain in his eyes, a longing in his voice. “What about your family, Jaxson?” I dared to ask.
“I don’t talk about them.”
“You know my parents’ sordid beginning. We can’t go forward without dealing with the past. Without it lurking in your mind,” I quoted him.
He was silent, and I was about to give up when he suddenly spoke.
“My parents were awful people.”
I started but didn’t say anything, shocked he was talking. I squeezed my arms tighter so he knew I was listening.
“They were drug addicts and liked to use me as a runner. I was fast, cute, and a kid isn’t your usual suspect to be carrying drugs.”
“Jaxson,” I breathed out, unable to stay silent.
He kept talking, his voice detached, as if he were reciting facts in a case.
“They didn’t care where they sent me. How dangerous, what sort of assholes might prey on me. As long as I was useful, they kept doing it. When I was successful, I got to eat. When I wasn’t, well, let’s just say, your father isn’t the only man to have used his fists on me.” He swallowed, the movement of his throat hard. “When I was ten, I got caught. My parents were charged with reckless behavior, endangering a minor, and some drug-related offenses, and they went to jail. I was sent to foster care.”
“You didn’t have any other family?” I asked quietly, my heart breaking at his words.
“No.”
“Were they, ah, nice?”
He laughed, the sound humorless. “I was a cash cow. That’s all. When I was too much trouble, they sent me back. I went somewhere else. Same story. Rinse and repeat.” He was quiet for a moment. “My parents got out of jail. But they weren’t interested in taking me back. I wasn’t useful anymore. They severed all ties and disappeared. I was told they died when I was about fifteen.” His hand tightened on my arm. “By then, I no longer cared. I was used to not eating, not having a proper bed. Being disregarded.”
I felt tears gather in my eyes. I could imagine him as a young boy, his dark hair and blue eyes. Alone. Abandoned. Scared.
He still was. Only he couldn’t see it.
He spoke again. “I ran away. Lived on the streets. Got caught. Sent back. I ended up in a group home. I learned to be responsible for myself and myself alone. The one thing I knew for certain was that everyone had a use and a purpose. Once that purpose is done, the person is no longer needed. I was never useful to anyone for very long. I went from place to place, thrown away like yesterday’s garbage—useless and unwanted. I learned at a very young age that love was fickle and unreliable.”
I couldn’t look at him. I felt his pain, no matter how much he denied feeling it.
“But love does exist,” I whispered. “Real love does.”
“In some people’s worlds, yes. In mine, no.”
“But—” I began, but he cut me off.
“Enough, Grace. You’ve been through enough tonight, and I’m tired. I shouldn’t have told you.”
“How did you become a lawyer?”
He sighed but answered. “Always wanting more information. I buckled down, finished school. I worked and saved, then went to university. I held down three jobs, got my degree, passed the bar, and never looked back.”