Page 70 of From West, With Regret

West runs the washcloth over my back, following his pathwith his hand, like he doesn’t want to stop touching me for a single second.

“I just meant that it’s like when we first met. I wouldn’t have pegged you for a billionaire… or to be living in Brooklyn.”

“Why?” I imagine his brows pulling together over his stunning blue eyes. “Holt lives in Brooklyn.”

“You’re right. But he lives in a different area, and you aren’t Holt.”

“True.” He laughs under his breath.

“So, why Brooklyn?”

“I was drawn to the old charm of it, I guess. Sort of reminds me of where I came from.”

“It does have a certain charm that’s missing in Manhattan, doesn’t it?”

I rest my cheek on my knee, staring at the forest-green-painted wall. “You have all these nice, expensive things, but they aren’t obvious. You don’t really see them until you look hard.”

“So, what you’re saying is, I’m hiding in plain sight?”

“Sort of,” I say softly. “You aren’t cold like you would expect form someone with your wealth.” I’m hinting at Heath and we both know it. West’s hand hesitates for a moment, but he’s quick to recover. I clear my throat. “What I mean is that you’re warm and inviting. You make people feel comfortable and safe, like you could be anyone’s friend.”

West’s hand dips beneath the water as he runs the washcloth over my lower back.

“But still not take anyone’s shit,” I add, lifting my head and glancing over my shoulder with a smirk.

West smiles back, a close-lipped one, though there’s a sadness in his eyes I can’t pin down. Like the topic of our conversation is somehow heavier than either of us were expecting.

“Do you remember much about your life before you were adopted by the Halls?” I ask.

West doesn’t immediately answer me. I’ve never asked him questions about his past. The only bit of information I do have is from what little bits he’s been willing to give me.

“I do.”

I turn back to look straight ahead again, catching our reflection in the full-length, mahogany-framed mirror propped against the wall. I watch West through the reflection. His eyes meet mine, but his hands continue to run over my body.

“From the day I was born, my mother wasn’t stable. She’d float in and out of prison and jail. She’d be arrested for all sorts of things: drugs, evading police, domestic disputes with my father. Nothing was off limits for her, but she refused to give me up, despite every reason she had to. Until I was three, I was constantly bounced between my mom, my grandmother, and my father. Then when I turned four, everything changed.”

I hold my breath, listening to West share his dark past with me. Something tells me this isn’t a story he’s shared more than a handful of times, if that.

His blue eyes soften, staring blankly at my back. “My grandmother suddenly died, and the next day, my mother was arrested for drug distribution. My father wasn’t addicted to drugs the same way my mother was, but he couldn’t hold down a stable job. He could barely afford to pay for his own shitty apartment or to feed himself. So, he surrendered me to Child Protective Services, and I was placed into foster care.”

A tingly sensation slithers down my spine, following West’s finger.

I open my mouth to let air fill my lungs. The familiar feeling I’ve had when I’m around West hits me up again, like I’ve known him longer than a few months. Like I’ve heard this story before. Or that it’s similar to mine.

I don’t remember my past, but I do know I was adopted from a foster home. Maybe that’s why his story is familiar.

“The first foster home was rough. I was only four, so I don’t really remember it that well,” he continues. “After a while, the people who fostered me no longer wanted to take care of kids, then I moved to another.” He pauses. “Then another.”

I tilt my head and swallow back the tears stinging the corner of my eyes. I picture a small version of West. An innocent boy dealt a shitty hand in life, all at the fault of the adults who were supposed to care and protect him. “How many did you live in?”

“In total, six before my last one.” He lifts his eyes to mine.

“Were they here in the city?” I ask him, raising my eyebrows.

I gnaw on the inside of my cheek. I’m getting the sense I’m pushing West too far, asking him to share too much. He’s right, we’re driving right off the edge of this cliff, and there’s nothing below to catch us.

My stomach swarms with nerves… until he clears his throat and answers my question.

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