Page 81 of Caught Stealing

I shake my head vehemently, rejecting the idea that could ever be the case.

“I didn’t remember. I still don’t.”

“I know, I believe you. The constant badgering about the details kinda gave it away.” He offers a wry smile before his expression sobers a bit. “But at the time, I wasn’t about to give you the satisfaction of knowing I was thinking about it. If you were hell-bent on acting like you’d never met me or it never happened, then I was too.”

“Spiteful,” I point out, with a smirk. “How very on-brand of you.”

He lets out a soft laugh and shakes his head. “You definitely brought out the worst in me at some points.”

I don’t miss him saying it in past tense, and it sprouts something within me. Something resembling hope. Like maybe he and I are done with that part of our story, and now we can focus on bringing out the best instead.

I reach my hand over the table and grab his. “Nix, about that night—”

He shakes his head. “You don’t have to explain. It’s fine.”

“I do, though.” I glance down to where my fingers trace over his knuckles, working up the courage I need to give him this piece of me. It’s only when his hand shifts to lace his fingers with mine that I find the words. “The night of the finals week party was the anniversary of my mom and dad’s death.”

Phoenix’s fingers tighten around mine imperceptibly as he lets out a soft curse. “Shit, Hold. I—”

I wave him off. “You don’t have to apologize. Seriously. It’s been…God, almost six years now. I should honestly be a lot more adjusted than I am.”

“You’re doing the best you can.” His thumb rubs the back of my hand in soft, soothing motions, and I sink into the familiarity of his touch. Even if it’s just that singular spot, it’s the kind of grounding pressure I’ve been missing for years.

“Yeah,” I whisper, my voice coming out on shards of glass.

Looking up at him, I find sympathy in his eyes as he watches me. But as I look closer, I realize it isn’t the kind I hate, the kind filled with pity. It feels different, yet I don’t know why.

“I haven’t told many people this, but…my parents who died weren’t my birth parents.”

His brow arches imperceptibly, and it’s like something clicks together in his brain when he murmurs, “You’re adopted.”

I swallow roughly and nod. “Yeah, they adopted me from birth.” My focus shifts over to the door of the room, finding it easier to tell him this without looking at him. “I guess my birth mom was a teen girl who didn’t even know who my father was. And the couple who adopted me—my parents—couldn’t have kids of their own, and by some divine intervention, they found my mother a few months before I was born.”

Phoenix’s hand squeezes mine, and I focus on his thumb still circling over the back of my hand before continuing.

“My parents were never secretive about my being adopted. I’ve known for as long as I can remember, and they always answered any questions I had about my bio mom. They even offered to contact her so I could meet her, if that was what I wanted. But to me,theywere my parents. I didn’t know anything else, and even though I had my curiosities, I didn’t feel like I was missing anything by not knowing her.”

“Have you thought about reaching out to your birth mom since they passed?”

“I can’t,” I whisper. “She died when I was twelve from a drug overdose.”

Pained doesn’t even begin to describe Phoenix’s expression when I finally glimpse at him. But again, it’s not in sympathy. It’s like he’s feeling all the emotions I am. Like he’s taking them for himself, so I don’t have to carry the burden alone.

He licks his lips and exhales a heavy sigh. “I know you don’t want apologies, but I’m sorry you no longer have them. All of them. I know it can’t have been easy to go through all that loss.”

My throat constricts, and I nod. “At least I had Gran. But no matter how glad I am to have her, it’s not the same, you know?”

A sad smile curves the corner of his mouth. “I get it.”

Emotion lodges itself deeper in my throat, and I let out a rough laugh. “She’d like you, though, with how you’re always putting me in my place and giving me shit.”

“Someone has to do it.”

I’m starting to realize there’s no one else I’drather have doing it—only him.

“I’m not telling you this to make excuses for how I acted that night. I’m well aware I’m an adult and can only blame my decisions on myself. But you deserve to know why I wasn’t entirely myself. So if I did or said anything to make you hate me—”

“You didn’t. And I’m sorry for not—”

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