Page 28 of The Price of Forever

“Sounds like they are looking out for you,” he said a few moments later. “Now that they know you’re alive.”

“Well that’s what you think,” I muttered, feeling a lot like a petulant teen.

“Knock off the immature bullshit.”

“Being abused for years in the foster care system isn’t immature bullshit,” I spat out, leaning forward. “Watching my sister be sold into sex trafficking isn’t immature bullshit.”

Seven rubbed at his face again. “That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Everyone’s Team Fairchild, but not a single person has stuck around to be Team Haynes. And that’s been true since they changed their name. Remember that when we visit your precious employers.” I stormed past him and into the bedroom, eager to end the conversation. Emotion clamped at my throat and I didn’t want to cry in front of him. Not again. Not twice in twelve hours, please God.

I beelined into the bathroom to start my morning routine. He wanted to visit them—fine. I’d go. But it would be quick. And only this once.

Kaylee would have to understand, wherever she was in the Great Beyond. Kaylee had railed harder and harder against Axel and Damian the older we got. They left us. Abandoned us. Turned their backs on us. They were the lucky sons of bitches who got the good family and never once tried to bring us along.

Kaylee was three years older than me, so she was thirteen and I was ten by the time we hit our final foster family. The one from hell. Kaylee had already had sex by then. Obsessed with boyfriends, fitting in, looking cool. She put makeup on in the bathroom at school after we got off the bus and some nights never even came home. Our foster mom Tyla never cared. We were living checks to her, an excuse to get paid. There were five other foster kids in that house, ages ranging from seven to seventeen. A few of them liked to gang up on me and the youngest one however they could. Kaylee stopped it when she was home, but when she wasn’t, I got locked in closets or garages for hours, starving and cold and desperate for dinner.

It got worse as we got older. Shit I didn’t like to think about. We tried to hide the bruises with long sleeves and makeup. When Tyla started demanding we help pay for rent, she already had a “job” for Kaylee, since she was older. She could meet with one of Tyla’s guy friends and talk to him for a little bit. Just talking. That was it.

I never saw what happened when Kaylee disappeared into the vehicles of the “guy friends,” but she always came back silent and brimming with tension. Sometimes she’d disappear for days at a time, then come back with a fat wad of cash, looking jittery and strange.

That’s when I found out how drugs changed a person. Firsthand. Kaylee was fourteen when she told me she was addicted. I was eleven. I had no fucking idea what that meant. But she wore it as a badge of honor, and I didn’t know enough to help her.

By the time Kaylee was at her worst, our brothers were seniors in high school. Kaylee wanted nothing to do with them; she didn’t want anything to do with me, either. I barely recognized her by then and was afraid to be around her.

She died months after turning seventeen. And I realized my sister had been right about our brothers.

After they graduated, they could have come to get us. They could have taken us. They could have been our adults. But they went to New York City instead. And then we never heard from them again.

Protecting me from getting raped in my hallway barely scratched the surface of making up for all the other things I hadn’t been protected from during my childhood.

I didn’t know how to tell Seven that the sudden care and attention from my brothers meant nothing.

A knock sounded on the bathroom door, startling me out of my thoughts.

“What?” I called out, patting foundation on my face.

“You decent?”

“I’m never decent. What do you want?”

“I’m going to let your brothers know we’ll be there in an hour. Sound good?”

“Whatever you say, Overlord.” Getting under Seven’s skin was my new goal in life, especially since last night’s events had removed the end date from our arrangement. I put on a minimal face of makeup, added lip gloss, then went back to the bedroom to change into leggings and a top. As always, I paired them with my boots and leather jacket—my go-to outfit in my off time. By the time I was ready to go, it was just before nine a.m.

When I rejoined Seven in the living room, a spread of food awaited me. He tipped his head toward the surprise breakfast—omelets, hashbrowns, tiny waffles, an entire fruit platter.

“Complements of Team Fairchild,” he said, that self-assured smirk returning.

“Very cute.” I side-eyed him as I popped a grape into my mouth. “Glad to see you’ve finally fully dressed.”

“I was just about to say the same to you.”

I snorted, reaching for a small plate and loading up on the hashbrowns. “Did you eat?”

“I don’t eat this early.”

“Oh.” I looked over my shoulder at him, feeling the quip burbling up inside me until it was too loud to keep inside. “Must be because you’re getting older, huh? Hurts your digestion to eat outside your regular routine?”

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