Page 63 of Stolen Moments

She turns to face me, her eyes clouded with tears. “When my grandmother left my grandfather, she took my mother with her, cutting him off. For years, he was estranged from them. He tried to fight it, but eventually, he gave up. My mother didn’t want a relationship with him. She became what my grandmother should have been—a dutiful wife with a degree, who stays home and sits on charity boards planning galas. Her only job is to stand beside my father, on his arm, and be quiet.”

That sounds fucking awful. I can’t imagine my mom ever keeping quiet or not having a career of her own. It clearly bothers Emery too, though I’m sure there is more to unpack there. Aside from her brother, this is the most I have heard her speak of her family.

“It wasn’t until Chris was five or six that my grandfather started to come around again. Don’t get me wrong, Papa—that’s what we called him—always sent cards and presents, but I wasn’t allowed to see him.”

“Why not?”

“My family wanted everyone to forget that he was a Mexican rancher from nowhere, with no name.”

“That’s awful.” It’s no wonder Emery doesn’t talk about her family; they sound like uptight assholes.

“It is. But when Chris was old enough, my parents allowed us to visit Papa. At first, it was a week at a time. But eventually, it turned into the whole summer. They loved having summers to themselves. No kids. Charity events and parties. All the glitz and glam without the responsibility. Not that it mattered—Chris and I felt the same. We counted down the days until school ended and we would be in Texas, where we could run free and be kids. Where there were no expectations to act a certain way. Where a grown-up actually cared about our well-being and loved us. Papa loved us so much that it made up for the lack of care we received the rest of the year. He’s the best, and I miss him.”

She hangs her head in grief, and it breaks my heart. I stand and swoop her up into my arms. She wraps her arms around my neck and rests her head on my shoulders as I carry her to the couch.

Taking a seat, I keep her in my lap. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

She looks at me with sad eyes, and it hits me. She doesn’t share this information with anyone.

I kiss her forehead and hold her tight. “I’m honored that you shared that piece of you with me.”

“Mason?”

“Yeah, baby doll?”

“I’m not like them, you know.” Her voice cracks, as does my heart at her pain.

How could she even for a second think I would lump her into the same box? She’s kind and beautiful, inside and out.

“I know.” I kiss her nose.

Her lips turn up into a soft watery smile. “Tell me something about your family.”

She rests her cheek back on my chest as I run my hand up her legs, reveling in her soft skin and the way her shoulders have relaxed after telling me something so personal.

Her family isn’t the only one with hardships, but in comparison, ours seem so small and trivial. Jace might be the exception, but that’s not my story to tell.

I flip the conversation and go with something easy. “Do you remember my brother, Cam? The one from the airport?”

She nods, trailing her fingers around the color of my shirt. “I do.”

“Well…” I clear my throat. I don’t know why I hate bringing this up. It’s not Cameron’s fault he’s a famous baseball player. He deserves it. I never met a person more dedicated to the game than him. “He plays for the Los Angeles Evaders.”

“What’s that?”

I almost laugh at her response. Never in my life have I met someone who didn’t know who the Evaders were.

“It’s a professional baseball team.”

“Oh, cool.” She shrugs.

I bark a laugh at her nonchalance. Well, fuck, that was easier than I thought it was going to be.

Threading my fingers in her hair, I pull her head back. “Not a baseball person?”

She shakes her head and smiles. “Not a sports person. I like kickboxing to work out, but that’s mostly because I get to punch a bag. Cheaper than therapy.”

“You’re cute.” I boop her nose, making her giggle, then down and kiss her pouty lips.

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