Page 563 of Rock Me All Night
"What do you do most mornings?"
"Cereal." He takes a long sip of his coffee. "Can't cook to save my life."
"Really?" I'm so focused on his deep brown eyes that I stir extra sugar into my coffee.
He chuckles. "Set grilled cheese on fire once."
"You did not."
He nods.
"But you're good at everything."
"Not cooking."
I study his expression. He's actually sheepish. It's incredibly endearing.
"I can teach you," I offer. "At home, I always cooked for my sister and my dad."
His voice softens. "Your mom?"
"She left when I was about twelve." I cut myself off but the memory catches up to me—the way Mom looked at us like we were keeping her from what she really wanted, how casually she walked away and never looked back.
"Hey." His voice is deep and steady. "You're hurting."
I nod.
"Tell me about it."
Can I really do that? I've never talked about this with anyone. Not even Madison. We pretend like it never happened.
My entire extended family always toes theeverything is fineparty line.
I take a deep breath. I want to talk to Pete. I trust him.
I go on. "I didn't realize it then, but she never wanted to have kids. Never wanted to get married. My dad convinced her it was a good idea, that he'd stay home with us so she could put her career first. Never happened." My voice strains. "It was sudden. One night she came into my room and kissed me goodbye. In the morning she was gone. I had no clue where she went. I had no clue how to get in touch with her."
"I'm sorry you went through that."
"Thank you." My gaze goes to my thighs. "I thought it was my fault. That if I'd been less demanding or if I'd gotten better grades… if it hadn't been so hard for her to take care of us, then she would have stayed."
He squeezes my hand. "Your dad never picked up the slack?"
My stomach clenches. I'm not ready to talk about him yet. "No, he can barely take care of himself."
"Your sister the one who slept with your boyfriend?"
"She's my only sister."
"She did that after years of you taking care of her?"
"Sort of. She's only two years younger. She's been able to take care of herself for a while."
His fingertips find my chin. He tilts me so we're eye to eye. His expression is demanding. "Promise me something."
"What?"
"Promise you'll stop running from how much that hurts you." His eyes fill with affection. "You don't have to be her friend. Don't have to make up with her. Don't even have to talk to her again. But you have to stop pretending it doesn't hurt."
