Page 95 of The Single Dad

When I look up at him, though, he meets my gaze squarely. I can’t avoid this forever. I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself down enough to tell him.

“When I was a little kid,” I say, my voice wavering as I force the words out, “I… I grew up in foster care. My mom, she… well, she wasn’t exactly the best parent, between the drugs and everything else.”

Cole’s hand goes still on my back, but it’s there, a comforting presence between my shoulder blades.

I wipe my eyes, then continue, “She was in prison for most of my teen years, so we were never really reunited. Foster care was… well, it was foster care. There were a lot of ups and downs. At one point, I lived with a girl who used to bully me.”

Talking about the memories seems to be helping—reminding myself of why I felt this panic, and why I don’t need to feel it anymore.

“One time, she locked me in a trunk in the attic of the place we were housed. I was small, but even so, there wasn’t a lot of room. I was trapped in there for hours by the time someone heard me shouting. My voice had gone hoarse.”

I glance at Cole, half expecting him to react the way most people do to that story—a vehement exclamation, that’s so awful, or something similar. He doesn’t. He sits in silence, listening, and tilts his head as if inviting me to go on.

I’m grateful for the quiet. It gives me enough space to keep speaking.

“Noah was the one who got me out,” I say. “Your neighbor. He always stood up for me when I was getting picked on, and we started to get close. He’s like a brother to me.”

I sniff, my gaze darting to Cole—to the elegant watch on his wrist that must have cost a fortune, the perfectly tailored suit that I know is one of dozens, the haircut that cost more than I make in a day. Embarrassment rises in me, flushing my cheeks.

What must he think of me? That I’m low class, probably. I just told him that my mom was a drug addict.

In an attempt to ameliorate the shame, I try for a weak, shaky smile. “You probably think I’m so trashy.”

He frowns, his brow furrowing. “Of course I don’t.”

“You don’t?” I blink at him, surprised.

He clasps his hands together, staring out into the night for a long moment. At last, he says, “Have I ever told you anything about my family?”

I shake my head, curious.

“Any family can have problems,” he says with a dry, mirthless chuckle. “Any family can have an ugly side. My father drank, and he was a toxic drunk. He never saw anyone about it, or sought treatment. Always insisted he wasn’t an alcoholic, but… well, if you have to insist, then something’s probably wrong.”

Cole sighs. His expression is still relaxed, but I can see the emotion in his eyes.

“My mother died when my sister and I were young—I was thirteen. From then on, we had to stick together, look out for each other. Just like you and Noah,” he says. “My dad was no better than your mom. He just got away with it in a way your mom didn’t. No one ever took his kids away.”

His words echo in my head. My dad was no better than your mom. I’m stunned by the admission, by the honesty.

I’ve always figured that wealthy people probably had skeletons in their expansive closets, dirty secrets that were easier for them to hide. But I never expected anyone like Cole to admit to it so readily.

I notice, as I turn the thoughts over in my head, that my heart rate has calmed down. I also don’t feel that shame anymore. Cole listened to me. Not only did he not judge me, but he also seemed to relate, which I never would’ve thought possible.

Cole’s hand moves to my chin, tilting my head up so that he can look into my eyes. He smiles, a genuine smile, the uncommon kind.

“You don’t have to feel ashamed of anything,” he says gently. “You know that, right? I’m never going to look down on you, angel.”

I wipe the gathering tears from my eyes and nod. I’m taken aback, but grateful. Suddenly, I don’t feel as alone as I felt earlier, pacing this empty house.

He leans close, and I do the same, as if we’re drawn together by a magnetic pull. When he kisses me, it’s soft and tender, unlike the typical ravenous kisses.

There’s still heat, though, as his kiss deepens. I lose myself in him—his smell, the feeling of his hand on my cheek, the softness of his lips.

Chapter 29

Riley

Cole breaks away from our kiss. As he withdraws, he tucks a lock of my hair behind my ear, and I relish the feeling of his hand on my face.

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