Page 100 of Loving Bad
I didn't like the sound of that so I shot him a questioning look.
"I don't want to talk about it," he said, refusing to elaborate. "That part of my life is over. The money gave me the freedom to give myself a new life and I could help the people I cared about. Slater and I left the gang. Jeff—the guy who found you—left with us. Whenever I need something done, he is the guy I call."
Jeff had fit the image I'd always carried of a gangster. It had probably been the reason why I'd struggled to trust him when he'd first found me. But despite my mistrust, he'd saved me.
"I'm not judging," I quickly said as I reached out to cover his hand with mine. I didn't want him to think he had to explain to me why he'd taken the money. It didn't taint the picture I had of him in my heart.
"I never wanted to be seen as a trust-fund baby. I wanted people to care for me, not for the money I had."
His statement explained why no one had any idea he was well-off. It didn't matter to me. Money gave you freedom, but it never guaranteed happiness. His gaze dropped to my hand that covered his. His other hand covered mine and he looked at me.
"My mom had started to get sick. The years of alcohol abuse took its toll on her body. I've set her up with the best medical care money can buy. I try to visit her often, but it's hard trying to care for someone who never gave a shit about me until she sobered up."
I didn't understand that at all. Both of my parents had loved me unconditionally—the way parents were supposed to love their children.
"I want you to know that I never wanted to deal drugs. It wasn't something I was proud of," he said with sadness in his eyes. I wanted to hold him tight and tell him everything would be okay.
"I know it's a lot to take in," he said as he stood up. I stood up.
"It was hard to read your file," I replied. "Seeing what you had to do to survive was difficult to comprehend."
It made me angry that his mother and Slater's parents had done that to them—left them alone in the world to fend for themselves. It was heartbreaking.
He looked solemn as he nodded his head.
"I understand why you got so upset when you saw the folder and I understand why you ran," I said, feeling the emotions tied to those two events begin to creep up and take hold of me.
He dropped his gaze, unable to look at me anymore.
"Look at me," I whispered, needing to tell him how I felt about it.
His eyes lifted to mine and I felt my heart ache again at the broken look he gave me. He was still expecting me to walk away from him.
