Page 50 of All Her Broken Pieces

“Fine.” Her fingers fidget in her lap as she picks at her nails, carefully weighing out her answer before she continues. “Trust is huge for me. Nothing else matters if I don’t have that.”

“Got it. Trust,” I parrot back to her. Clearly, there’s something or someone in her past that has created trust issues for her.

“To be honest, I don’t have enough experience to really tell you what else I’d look for in a partner. I could tell you more about what I look for in a fuck,” she deflects as she continues picking at her nails.

“Nice try, hellcat. If you were going to let someone into your life, besides trust, what else would they need to give you for you to feel safe? To feel cherished?”

She picks up her thigh, readjusting her weight as she blows out a breath. “I, uh… I think it would be nice to have someone who likes spending quality time with me, just being present when we’re together. I didn’t get a lot of that growing up.”

A small smile curves my lips as I think about the amount of quality time we’ve spent together over the past week. “What else?” I coax.

“Maybe someone who’s optimistic. I tend to let my anxiety take over, and someone encouraging could make me laugh and get out of my head.”

Her eyes stay trained on her lap, so I reach out and gently tilt her face toward mine. “You act as though spending time with you is a chore.”

“Isn’t it? I didn’t have a lot of friends growing up. No siblings. I have Becka, and I push even her away at times. There aren’t a lot of people clamoring to spend time with me.”

“I am.” I cup her cheek, forcing her to hold my gaze. “I’m desperate to spend time with you, as much as you’ll let me. I know you feel this energy between us, and I know it’s scary, but I want to be here, getting to know you.”

I have to physically force myself to stop speaking before I scare her off, but hearing her basically describe me in what she wants in a partner makes me want to scream from the hilltops about how good we could be together if she would stop pushing me away.

For once, her eyes remain locked on mine, my hand still on her cheek as she asks, “Truth or dare, pup?”

“You know the answer. Truth. I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

“You’ve talked about your sisters as though you’re their primary caretaker. Are you not close to your parents?”

“That’s a little complicated.”

“We’ve got time. It’s not like you’re letting me leave this apartment any time soon.”

“You aren’t a prisoner, you’re recovering from surgery. And I get the feeling that you’ll do whatever you want, despite what your doctor, nurse, or I might say.”

“True.”

“So if you’re letting me stay here and play nurse with you, it’s your choice.”

“I didn’t have much of a choice in the first days after. I tried to get rid of you, but you kept taking care of me.”

“And it’s a good thing I did. It’s okay to let people in and accept help.”

She shifts again on my lap. “Are you uncomfortable? You could get up,” I offer.

“And lose my points? Nice try.”

“Straddling me might be more comfortable,” I hint with a wink.

“Just answer my question. Are you close to your parents?”

“My bio mom and I are not close. To be honest, I don’t know where she lives now or even if she’s still alive. I haven’t spoken to her in years. She and my dad never married, and they had a pretty rocky relationship after she became addicted to opiates. My dad tried to get her help, but he had a hard time juggling being a single parent and sole income provider. My paternal grandparents weren’t supportive of their relationship and cut us out of their lives. I never heard anything about my grandparents on her side. I was three when she left. I have some memories of her, but most of what I know is from stories my dad has shared about her.”

“What kind of mother walks away from her own child?”

“The kind that’s too selfish to put someone else’s needs over her own.” The words feel bitter coming out of my mouth as I ball up my free hand, pushing it into the fabric of the couch. Bridget must sense my anger, and she shifts in my lap, straddling me. The movement puts her face almost at eye level, and she rests her hands on my shoulders, her eyes locked on mine, letting me know it’s okay to continue. “I love my biological mother as a person. I wish her well and hope she finds happiness, but it isn’t with me and I’m okay with that. It wasn’t until my dad married my stepmom, Ashley, that I truly understood what motherly love was. She was born to be a mom. She’s the kindest person I know. She tamed my dad and grounded him in a way no one else ever could.”

“But you’re close to your dad?”

“Again, that’s a bit complicated. My parents were young when they had me, and I grew up feeling like a burden. I don’t have many memories from that time, but they all involved yelling. It’s probably where my need to help came from. If I was helpful enough, maybe they’d stop fighting, maybe my dad would be around more, maybe my mom wouldn’t have left.”

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