Page 51 of Synced to Us

Oh, no. This has gone so wrong and turned into such a misunderstanding. I risk a glance at her. “I wasn’t talking about you as a working girl. I was talking about you as a money shark.”

Shocked silence passes between us. Dee doesn’t move. Then she says, “Excuse me?”

A loud exhale escapes. “Hang on. I gotta pull over for this.”

I ease the truck to the side of the road, leaving the engine running. It takes some convincing, but I release the wheel, stretching and un-clenching my fingers.

“Wyn. Tell me what’s going on. Why aren’t you more upset that Brad found out about me?”

“Because I don’t give a fuck about Brad’s thoughts on your previous career. My family…” I throw my head back and stare at the ceiling of the cab rather than her. “We went through some harsh times when Brad and I were really young. I was still in diapers. My dad died when I was two and Brad was four. But before that, we lived a pretty cushy life. Gated community, Ma was on all these boards, Dad was on a bunch of panels, lots of community outreach—you know, rich people shit.”

Dee’s quiet for a minute, likely trying to process my switch in topic. “Let me guess. When he died, he left you nothing.”

My interest piques at her tonelessness, like Dee’s experienced something similar. But I can’t tell if my instinct is on point. “No, actually. He left us a shit-ton. He was a big CEO type. Our inheritance was all in trusts, but Ma was given full access. The only kicker is, she had no idea what to do with any of it. Money management wasn’t her responsibility when he was alive—Dad did all of it. She did everything else. Just as important, but … not knowing how to manage our funds? She was left clueless, and therefore relied on other people to help her get through.” My throat clicks with a tense gulp. “People like you.”

“I see.” Dee looks down at her hands. “How couldn’t they help her?”

“Ma relied on a ‘friend of the family.’ A guy who was best buddies with my dad at the country club. He said he’d take care of the cash, invest it properly, triple our income so Ma would never have to work a day in her life.”

Dee’s expression smooths into one of clarity. The way she raises her eyes to mine tells me she remembers our first meeting, how she essentially promised the same thing to me.

“You have to understand—she was terrified,” I continue. “She’d graduated college, sure. But she married Dad shortly after and never went into the workforce. Ma had no idea where to start, and now she was a widow with two babies, and—well, she looked to her friends for help. The other rich couples my parents associated with.” Needing something to do with my hands, I find the steering wheel again and clench it. Push at it. The leather groans underneath my grip. “They screwed her, Dee. This guy, after she signed over power of attorney, put all our funds—all of it—into various high-risk accounts.”

Dee hisses in a breath.

“Yeah. You see where I’m going. This was the time the stock market crashed. We lost it all within a week. There was nothing but what Ma had in her personal bank account, which was maybe a few thousand.”

“Wyn, I’m so sorry.” She places her hand over mine on the gearshift, her vanilla fragrance wafting into my comfort zone.

“I’m not even done. Collectors started coming. Creditors. We lost the house within a few months, our social status was fucked, and Ma was forced to move. All those rich friends? Nobody wanted our kind of bad luck tainting them. That family friend who we trusted explained that was how the market worked. Ma wanted to triple the value of her investment, and he only did what she asked. She took the risk. He said that to a woman who had no fucking idea how stock markets or investments worked. She didn’t realize all that intangible money in our trusts could actually be made nonexistent. So, she escaped the city and found herself here in Thicketville, accepting a waitressing job, paying rent on a one-bedroom, and scraping by until Brad and I were old enough to get jobs. I was ten when I started being paid under the table as a nighttime grocery stocker.”

“God, Wyn.”

I nod, my unfocused gaze on the dash.

“That’s what I was talking about when I asked you not to mention your job when we got here. My family despises money people like the one who ruined us. We haven’t trusted them for shit ever since.”

“When you asked me not to talk about my work… Shit, Wyn, I thought you were talking about my being a former call girl! I mentioned my current job to Lucy while out shopping today… I had no idea.”

“She told me. But I’m now understanding, I wasn’t clear enough on the occupation you were supposed to keep secret.”

I try for a laugh. It doesn’t hit our ears right and lands flat.

Dee puts a hand to her forehead. “This whole time I thought you were ashamed I used to be a hooker. I expected it! Nobody wants to bring an ex-call girl to their family dinner.”

Frowning, I give her a look. “I don’t give a fuck about your past career, or how you got where you are. I never have. Look at me. I’m a guy who’s lost everything twice. I’m the biggest loser this town has. How could you think I’d be embarrassed to cart you around? Look at you. You’re amazing.”

Dee shakes her head in an awed motion. “This explains why you don’t want me touching your money. Why any mention of bills or invoices in your home leads to chaos and upset.”

“We’re a regular, confusing fucked-up family unit, that’s for sure.”

“So none of this secret-keeping, none of our pretend relationship, has to do with what I used to be?”

This time, I turn all the way to her. I make sure she’s holding my stare when I say, “You thought I was ashamed to bring you home to my mother. That’s on me. You’re absolutely not the problem here. You’re everything my ma would want me to have and what Brad did tonight…he has no excuse. You being an ex-call girl does not mean you deserve to be cornered, demeaned, and scared off by guys like him.”

In a flash of movement, Dee cups my cheeks, her soft hands flowing like silk over my scruff. “Winston Rothlessberger, you had me so fooled. Why didn’t you tell me from the beginning?”

I grasp her wrists, keeping her warm hands on my roughened, water-logged skin. “Because you’re right. I’m ashamed. Despite my best efforts to get out of this town, to save my family, to be something other than a garage band wannabe, I’ve put my family in the same position that the old family fucker did. I’m no better than him.”

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