Page 89 of Crave Me

His voice isn’t angry. In a way, I wish it was. It’s better than the hurt.

I give him a moment to gather his thoughts. His attention lowers, as if analyzing the way our bare skin touches, and how close we are at this moment.

Except when he looks up, it’s not to talk about us, it’s to share another piece of himself. “My father realized, too late in life, that he’d been used. He knew he was dying. But what killed him was recognizing that he’d never have the love he’d sought, or the mother he knew I’d needed.”

If his mother was here, I’d knock her lights out.

“But as sick as he was, he didn’t fail me,” he assures me. “Aside from a trust awarded to my mother, he left me everything. It enraged her when the lawyers disclosed the terms of his will. She lashed out, telling me everything she never dared to admit while he was alive.”

I brace myself for the worst. “What did she say to you?”

“That she never wanted me or my father. But, although I already knew, I needed to hear her say it.”

“Why? You were just a kid. It was such a shit thing to do to you.”

He seems to still, but answers me anyway. “It helped me finally let go of the mother she never intended to be, the caregiver she never was, and as the protector who only defended her own needs, wants, and desires.” He looks at me. “Aside from watching my father’s casket lowered into the ground, it was hardest thing I ever endured. In letting her go, I let go of the mother I longed for, the one I wished she could have been.”

If my soul was made of glass, it would creak and crack down the middle. But it’s what he says next that makes pieces fall.

“This was a woman who gave me life and ruined me, simultaneously.”

“You’re not ruined, Evan,” I say, my fingertips skimming the soft hairs along his temple.

“I’m not,” he agrees. “But for a long time, I believed that I was.”

“And how do you feel now?”

Oh . . . I don’t think I’ve ever been happier to see those two dimples. “Do you want the truth, something you may not be ready to hear? Or would you prefer I continue to hide what I feel?”

He’s challenging me to step it up. And as much as I’ve tried to hold back, I don’t. Not this time. “Let it rip,” I say, meeting him square in the face.

“The truth is, despite the challenges I face, nothing can stop me.” The beast within him flares, intensifying the specks of gold in his eyes. “And with you by side, my success will be that much sweeter.”

I grin. “You’re right. Because you’re the baddest motherfucker in business, a god in bed, and an animal when it comes to getting what you want.”

The joy he greets me with almost doesn’t seem real. But it is, everything about Evan is real.

“What about you?” he asks, his sudden seriousness suppressing the moment between us.

He’s not asking how I feel. “You want to know about my father, don’t you?”

“I told you a great deal, and while it wasn’t easy, I’m glad that I did.” He angles his chin, examining me closely. “But if you’re not ready, I won’t press.”

“I know you won’t.” And it’s because he doesn’t, that I do.

“I was the sixth kid born, the girl my daddy and mommy wanted, and their little miracle and joy,” I reply, not meaning a word of the latter. “My father, hmmm. I’d say he was about as good as your mother. He’d take his little princess around and parade her all over the neighborhood. At least that’s what he let my mom think. The truth was, he’d take me to one neighbor’s house in particular, the one he’d spent close to a decade cheating on my mother with.”

“Shit,” Evan says, sitting up.

“Yeah, it was,” I admit. “I’m not sure how old I was when I figured it out. But I was old enough to know that he shouldn’t be going into a bedroom with a woman who wasn’t my mother and locking the door. I hated this woman for it.” I quiet. “But I hated my father more.”

He waits, listening and understanding in a way no one else can. “I’m the one who told my mother. I’m the one who made her cry. I think she suspected, but it took me telling her to believe it.” My head falls forward as I bear the weight of my confession. “To this day, the people from my old neighborhood think I was my father’s pride and joy. But I was just another female he used. He used my mom to give him a stable family, this woman to give him what he felt was missing in the bedroom, and me as a way to see her. Well, until he didn’t need me anymore.”

Disgust and anger tense the wall of muscle along Evan’s chest. I recognize the emotions because every time I think back to how my father treated my mother, I feel them, too.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“I am, too,” I admit. “Mostly, I’m sorry for how mad I was at my mother. My mother, Evan—the woman who was tough enough to support and raise seven kids on her own, but too weak to let the man who treated her like she was nothing, go.” I throw my hand up. “It pissed me off that she put up with what she did.”

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