Page 34 of The Rogue

I didn’t want to be responsible for another human.

I’m not a kid person. Hell, I don’t even remember being one. I’m an only child.

My only frame of reference for parenting is dad leaving mom a year after I was born, reappearing every so often only to take off again. Once I was old enough to care for myself—around seventeen—theybothleft.

Not that I see myself ditching the kid or anything, but who’s to say I won’t screw something up the way my parents did?

How much time is too much to spend with a kid until you’ve somehow managed to fuck with their innocent little mind?

I like Jackson too much to mess up his beautiful soul.

First time I met the kid was at his birthday party last fall when I was part of Aiden’s catering crew. The moment I laid eyes on him, I knew who he belonged to.

The mean rugged cowboy that makes you want to cock your head to the side and ask, “Who hurt you?”

Still boggles me how the two boys upstairs are related.

Jackson is warm, trusting, and bursting with exciting energy that makes you want to ruffle his hair and pull him in for a squeeze.

Levi is a grumbly, rugged ice-cold skeptic who makes you want to scream. And not in a good way.

Which is unfortunate.

I stiffen when I hear him making his way back down. What the hell now? Do I act like I know what I’m doing? Tell him he won’t be disappointed? Will he see right through me?

A cedary scent lingers when he moves past me to stand across the counter. “Thanks for not saying anything to Jackson yet.”

“I’m not exactly sure what to say.”

“Me neither,” he grumbles, and it makes me swallow.

One of us should know how to do this.

I push off my seat. “This was a bad idea.”

“Sit down.”

I drop back onto my seat. His intimidating energy doing a number on me already.

“Tell me about yourself, Tessa.” The question doesn’t come out casual or conversational. Reading between the lines, he’s asking me to give him a reason to change his mind.

“I’m an only child. Natural redhead.”

“Where are you from?”

“All over.”

“Tessa.”

“What does it matter? What East Coast takes care of kids better than the West Coast? Who cares?”

“So, West Coast?”

“Chicago.”

He considers that for a moment. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-seven.”

---