Page 5 of Unwanted

But mentioning LA, the phone call from Clem, and everything with Lennox brings it all back.

All the truth.

Everything I ran from.

I feel open and exposed, and I don’t know if I’m ready to do this with Jordan.

I’m not ready for him to really know me. And I’m sure as shit not ready for him to look at me differently.

Here, in Seattle, I’ve amounted to something.

If I tell him about the real me, none of that will matter.

“I mean it,” he says. “Whatever you need. I still owe you for holding down the fort when Gael and I were in Vegas last year.”

I think back to last year and how different it looked for Gael and Jordan. Two best friends secretly pining for the other, forced to admit their feelings and deal with everything that came with it.

They made hardship and heartache look worth it.

But I knew I wasn’t built like that.

Running away to Seattle, as Clem liked to point out, was proof of that.

“I’ll tie up as much as I can before I leave,” I assure him, but he just shakes his head at me. “I just have to book my flight and then I’ll know more.”

“Book your flight, Frankie.” He reaches over the desk and gives my hand a quick squeeze. “Leave the rest to me.”

I spend the rest of the afternoon making travel arrangements and finding a place to stay. I know Clem is going to tear me a new one for not staying with them, but I can’t. I’ve been gone too long to slip right back into the fold.

By the time the sun has set, I’m still at my desk, writing up what I hope is an easy to read email detailing everything I’m currently working on, what needs delegating, and what I can handle from my phone and laptop in LA.

“I thought you would’ve left already.” I glance up at the sound of Jordan’s voice, watching him walk toward me with a six pack of beer and a bag filled with Chinese takeout. “But I should’ve known you would stay as late as possible trying to perfect everything before you left.”

While I was trying to do exactly that, I was also stalling on the inevitable. I was anxious about going back to LA, and I was petrified at what I might find when I get there.

“I couldn’t get a flight till tomorrow morning,” I lie. “Figured I would do as much as I can.” I tip my chin at the food and drinks now resting on my desk. “Why aren’t you at home?”

“Gael has parent-teacher conferences tonight, and I hate going home to an empty house.”

I raise an eyebrow at him and reach for a beer. “Is that so?”

He grabs his own bottle and twists the top open. “I told you I would handle it all.”

“I know.”

“Then why are you still here?”

Deflated, exhausted, and scared, I keep my eyes on the bottle and pick at the already lifting label. My mouth moves and everything I was determined to keep close, comes tumbling out.

“I grew up in foster care,” I tell him, the relief of being honest for the first time in a long time allowing me to unexpectedly continue. “A group home, actually. Lennox and I both did.”

Self-consciously, I rub at my nose, willing away the sting of my childhood. I don’t tell him about Clem or Remy or Arlo. Even though we’re all a range of ages, we all lived together at On The Horizon Group Home at one point in our lives.

Arlo and I are the oldest, at twenty-seven and twenty-six respectively, while Clem is two years younger than me, despite always acting like more of an adult than Arlo and I ever did.

Lennox is twenty-two and Remy is twenty, both of them aging out of the system much later, but both having a better transition plan than Arlo and I had eight years ago.

I also don’t tell Jordan how much it hurts being away from them, but how the idea of returning doesn’t give me any comfort either.

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