Page 16 of When You Are Mine

“They didn’t abuse me, if that’s what you mean. They just didn’t love me.” Her lips thinned and tightened around the admission. “I’m not even sure they loved each other. The only thing I can say with confidence is that they loved church.”

“Religious fanatics?”

“Not fanatics. They just had definite rules I had to follow.” Her laugh was too tight to leave any room for real humor.

“Like what?” He watched her features settle into the hardness of cement, so at odds with its usual soft lines.

“Like not dating, not listening to secular music, not wearing makeup, not drinking, not cursing. Going to church three times a week—”

“Whoa!” He sliced into her litany, holding up a hand to stem the flow of rules that had governed her life for eight years. “Whatcouldyou do?”

She tilted her head to the side, seemingly giving it serious consideration.

“I made jewelry. Read a lot. I spent a lot of time alone.”

“Lonely or alone?”

“Maybe both.” He wanted the thoughts her eyes shrouded. She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth before continuing. “It was okay. I’ve always enjoyed my own company.”

He couldn’t blame her. Her company intoxicated him, hitting his bloodstream like a four-hundred-dollar bottle of vodka. Every sip of her felt like a reckless indulgence. She was a decadence he could ill afford but—God help him—couldn’t resist.

“What about you?”

Tables neatly turned.

“What about me?” He tipped his head back, prepared to confess like she was his high priestess if it would buy him another five minutes with her. “My story was written before I was even born. All laid out for me.”

“I don’t believe that.” She sipped her own Diet Coke, eyes getting tangled up with his over the can.

“It’s true. My mom knew what she wanted for me, and so did my dad. They’ve been pulling me in opposite directions, fighting over me since the divorce when I was thirteen years old.”

“Boo hoo hoo.” He tasted a little sarcasm sprinkled in with her teasing. “Poor little rich boy had parents who wanted him so badly they fought over him.”

“It wasn’t like that.”

He knew his tone was defensive. She was teasing him, but everyone made assumptions about him because of the privileges he’d been born into. He didn’t want her to do that.

“I would have given everything if my parents had been able to work it out. If we could have been a family. I don’t really care about the stuff.”

“I believe you.” The look she gave him knew more than it should. “Your parents had to do something right, in their own way, for you to turn out like you have. I’ve heard your mother brag more than once that you’re the best of them both. Can you see that?”

“Can you?” He wasn’t sure what he meant by the question, but he felt certain she would know how to respond.

“Yes.” She didn’t look away. He could not.

He was the son of Martin and Kristeene Bennett in every way, constantly living in the dichotomy of that, dwelling between the warring factions of his heredity. And for the first time he really believed someone saw him in his entirety.

“Kerris,” he began, but the buzz of her cell phone interrupted.

“’Scuse me.” She glanced at her phone and back to him, her other hand wandering up to the knot of hair secured on her head. “It’s Cam.”

She answered, and he blew out the breath his chest had been holding hostage.

“Hey, baby. Yeah, Walsh dropped the food off. It was delicious. He stayed to eat with me.”

Walsh stood to scrape the remnants of their meal into the garbage disposal, grinding the food and the intimacy they’d shared with the flick of the switch. He rinsed and dried the plates, packing everything up.

Her voice dipped lower. He couldn’t make out what she was saying, but he sensed the ease that existed between her and Cam. Easy, not the fierce knot of urges and compulsions he wrestled to the ground every time he was around her.

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