Page 35 of Riot's Thorn
We sit across from each other on a picnic bench, and I notice what’s on Riot’s plate—or rather, what’s not. “Your burger doesn’t have anything on it.”
“I like it plain.” He bites into his bread and hamburger patty.
“Do you want some of my potato salad?” I ask.
“No. I only eat potatoes as fries or chips.” He demonstrates that by popping a plain, salty chip in his mouth.
“What about flavored chips? Like barbecue or sour cream and cheddar?”
“No.”
I think back to the meals he’s made and realize everything has been very simple, plain, and inexpensive. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Okay,” he says hesitantly.
“How did you grow up?”
“Like everyone else. Unless you die, everyone grows up.”
“That’s not what I mean, and you know it,” I say, though I’m not positive he does. He’s a very literal person.
“I was raised in Reno. Lived just north of here in a trailer park with my mom.”
My next question would offend most people, but I have a feeling he’ll take it at face value, the way I mean it. “Were you poor?”
He huffs. “You could say that. Mom couldn’t work a lot of the time, so I had to, but jobs that’ll hire a kid don’t pay well.”
His food choices make sense now, and a pang shoots through my heart thinking about a child-sized Riot trying to earn enough money to pay rent. “That must’ve been really hard.”
“It just. . .was.” He shrugs. “I didn’t like the few times we had to live in the car. I had the power to make sure that didn’t happen, so I did.”
I can’t help but notice how his shoulders are relaxed and he’s talking freely now that we’re alone. Not that I think he doesn’t like the other club members, but he’s more serious and rigid with them. I find I like how comfortable he is with me.
Oh, god. In no way should this information make me feel special. That’s so stupid.
“Where’s your mom now?” I ask, my ego slightly overblown.
“She’s dead.” It’s so matter-of-fact, I do a double-take.
“Oh. I’m sorry. My mom’s dead too.” God, this is so weird. How can I be sitting here sympathizing with him? It makes no sense. “How did she die?”
“I killed her.”
What. The. Fuck.
CHAPTER TWELVE
RIOT
“Ikilled her,” I say, not wanting to keep secrets. If I’m going to keep Parker, I don’t want anything between us, so I need to tell the truth, no matter how ugly it is or how uncomfortable it makes me.
“I’m sorry?” Parker chokes and sputters, her hamburger falling to her plate.
“I’ll get you a drink.” I jump up from the table, ignoring the prying eyes around me. I get they’re shocked since I don’t attend any of the social gatherings and I’m hardly ever seen with a partner, let alone one as beautiful as Parker. I just wish they’d be a little more subtle.
I stare at the cooler and realize I don’t know what she likes. I’ve only seen her drink coffee and water. I’d better bring her choices, so I grab two beers and a water before returning to the table and offering her both.
“Thank you,” she says, pounding on her chest.
