Page 78 of Not Catching Love

I uselessly want to apologize, but then I remind myself he doesn’t want the sympathy. “Is seventeen normal?”

“Nope. I think three is standard. My parents tried to get me back a couple of times but couldn’t stay clean long enough. I was in short-term places and care homes in between, plus there were ten long-term arrangements. Two of those, my parents—I don’t even know why—complained and had me moved. Five, like I said, were awful. Two were amazing, and the last one … the last one was this super-educated and well-off couple who took in older foster kids to help set them up with the skills they need. Driving, bank accounts, college applications, that kind of thing.”

“That sounds helpful.”

“They also separated me from Seven.”

The weight in those words leaves me speechless.

“When I was five, my foster brothers tied me in a thickplastic bag and laughed as I tried to get out. When I was eight, I put on a lot of weight, and my foster parents put me on a strict diet, locked the cupboards and fridge, and would make me run around the neighborhood every afternoon, and I couldn’t come back until it was dark. At thirteen, I counted how many days I could go without talking before someone noticed. One hundred and eighteen, by the way, and it was only after the fourth visit from my caseworker that she realized something was going on. But none of those things hurt as much as losing Seven did.”

“Why?”

“Seven was really angry when I met him, but something changed, and he got his act together because he was determined to look after me. It wasn’t good on him, either, when we were separated. They worried he’d done … things. To me. But the only thing he ever did was love me when no one else would. I’d had the health anxiety plenty before that, but those months are where it got really bad. He was the only reason worth living, and I knew that if I was struggling without him, then he was struggling without me. They wouldn’t let me contact him. They wouldn’t tell me if he was okay. I had panic attacks every single night, thinking he’d been arrested, or stabbed, or was living on the street. I thought I’d leave there and never be able to find him again, and the thought of that was so paralyzing I couldn’t breathe.”

I hold him closer, tears pricking at my eyes. “Seven’s everything to you.”

“Yeah.” He pulls back, and no matter what he says about being unaffected by it all, I can tell it still haunts him. “I don’t think I’m capable of letting him go. I’m sorry.”

“Nope. If I can’t be sad for you, then you don’t get to be sorry about that.” I cup his face and tilt it up until he’s looking at me. “How did you find him?”

“I didn’t get better. Even with meds and psychiatric visitsand appointment after appointment with psychologists. They even put me in a goddamn psych ward. When nothing worked, my caseworker stopped fighting it. I was almost eighteen, so it’s not like they could hold me forever. She called Seven, and he came and picked me up. He’d found a tiny one-bedroom, and he was working at a fast food place during the day, a bar at night, and building his tattoo portfolio with every spare moment in between. He said that he knew I’d need him and made sure he was ready.”

“I think Seven just became my favorite person.”

Xander scowls, and I can’t help it.

I lean down and brush my lips softly over his.

He chases me for more, and it hurts not to let him. His eyes flutter open, and when that bright purple hue appears, I hate it. I overwhelmingly, unreasonably, flare with hatred over it.

“Seven, Molly, Madden, Rush, Christian, Gabe. Those men are all in your life. You’re not alone anymore, Xander. You’re not waiting for your person. You’ve found them.”

His pink tongue swipes over his lips. “And you?”

“I’m already yours in all the ways I can be.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Xander

“What would your reaction be if I told you that I wanted you to put some distance between yourself and Seven?”

Dr. Sherwin’s question immediately makes me seize up. “You wouldn’t.”

“I might.”

“I’d tell you to fuck off and that I’m never coming back again.”

Dr. Sherwin laughs. “I appreciate the honesty. Does your closeness to him bother you? Even the smallest amount?”

“No.” It’s everyone else who seems to have an issue with it. If Seven’s happy and I’m happy, I don’t get why anyone else should care, but of course they do. Of course they look at our connection and want to make judgment calls on something they don’t understand.

“Do you think your connection to him will affect you having future relationships?”

“I lost my virginity.” I say it so fast it takes a moment for Sherwin to pivot.

“Really? That was something on your mind a lot.”

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