Change of Heart (Fostering Love 2)

Because they knew that every time I teased and every time I made fun, it wasn’t malicious. I loved the family that had taken me in. I’d kill for them. And every time someone looked at our family, with slender me and curvy Kate, and blond Henry, and identical Hispanic Alex and Abraham, and dark-skinned Trevor, I made a joke of it.

Because it didn’t matter to me. I wasn’t making fun of them—I was making fun of the world. The society we lived in. The people who stared. The people who cared how much we weighed and how successful the logging company was. The ones who asked questions with their noses turned up.

If I had a dollar for every time someone asked me what nationality I was, I’d buy a fucking Dutch Bros. coffee trailer just so they could make me an iced Caramelizer whenever I wanted without having to wait in line. Actually, you fucking busybody, I have no idea what nationality I am because I have no idea who my father was. None. My mom was fucking so many men that she had no idea, either. For all I knew, I may have been filling out forms wrong that asked if I was Native American for my entire life.

I inhaled deeply through my nose.

I was hard to take. I knew that. But I’d never felt judged by these people. They’d never taken me at face value—they’d always read between the lines. They’d heard what I meant, not what I said.

But all of a sudden, after fourteen years, I didn’t feel safe in the Evans house. I felt like I was coming out of my skin. Like they hated me. Like they didn’t understand me. Like I didn’t belong.

I lifted a shaking hand to my spoon and stirred my chili, trying to control my breathing as the voices droned on around me. I needed to leave. I needed to get away from them. But I was afraid of calling attention to myself by getting up from the table.

What if Dan yelled at me again?

I was twenty-nine years old and afraid of getting scolded like a child. I clenched the hand on my lap into a fist and shuddered.

“We gotta head out, Mom,” Bram said as I continued to stir my food.

“We?”

“Yeah, I told Ani I’d take her to Jay’s bar.” I jerked in surprise as I heard Bram say my name, but I didn’t lift my head.

“But, you just—”

“We’ll see you later.” He was quiet for a second, and I could picture him kissing the side of his mom’s head the way he always did. “Thanks for dinner.”

I sat frozen as he came around the table, but climbed to my feet when his hand reached out. I gripped it as he pulled me out of the room while I successfully avoided everyone’s eyes.

“Shit!” Dan roared in the kitchen as we were walking out the front door.

I couldn’t stop the sob that bubbled out of my mouth, and I instantly slapped my hand over it.

“Hey,” Bram said quietly.

“It’s fine. Fun dinner, huh?” I said jokingly, taking a couple steps toward my car without looking at him. “I figure it’s a success if I can piss off the guy with the lobotomy. I mean, really. That’s skill.”

“Ani,” Bram cut in warningly.

“Just another day of being me—pissing off war veterans and their children. It’s a gift.”

“Anita,” Bram called.

“What?” I snapped back, raising my eyes to meet his.

“Where are you going?”

I looked at my car, then back to Bram. “Uh, home?”

“You don’t want to go to Jay’s?” he asked gruffly.

“Wait, that was a real thing? I thought you were just getting me out of there—thanks for that by the way—”

“Do you want to go or not?” he asked in irritation.

I looked at my car again, then back at Bram.

“Sure, okay,” I finally answered.

“Then get in the fucking truck.”

I scowled, then stomped past him.

“You have to bring me back to get my car tomorrow. I’m sure as shit not coming back here tonight,” I ordered, moving around the hood of the truck.

“Fine.”

“Fine.” I turned on my heel and ran back to my car to grab my purse as Bram grumbled behind me, climbing into the truck and honking the horn as he started it.

What a fucking gentleman.

Chapter 5

Bram

I’d never been so pissed at my dad in my entire life.

When we’d moved in with Dan and Liz when we were kids, I was weary. That was probably the best word. Alex and I had been moved from home to home, never staying anywhere for long since we’d gone into the system at age seven. I’d known even then that our moves were my fault.

Alex was cute. He was funny. He got along with everyone and was perpetually happy.

I was the problem. I was the one who had an attitude and didn’t seem to connect with anyone. Who brooded and sat silently in the corner of the room during Christmas and birthday parties.