Page 131 of Meet Me In The Dark
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“Okay,” I say, nudging the dishwasher closed with my hip. “I love your mother.”
Julian leans against the counter with the faintest trace of a smile tugging at his mouth. “Yeah. I won the foster kid lottery with that one.”
I pause mid-wipe with the dish towel, turning to look at him properly. “I didn’t know you were in foster care.”
“I didn’t tell you?”
No.
No, he did not.
I shake my head. “I’m pretty sure I would remember that.”
“My parents took me in when I was nine andadopted me when I was eleven.”
Suddenly, I have a new appreciation for both him and the woman I just shared dinner with.
“Do you…” I hesitate, not wanting to overstep. “Do you have any contact with your birth parents?”
He freezes for just a second—so quick I almost miss it—before tossing a towel onto the counter and leaning back against the sink, bracing his palms on either side.
“Don’t know my father. As for my mother? Not often.” There’s something distant in his voice, like he’s pulling it from the furthest corner of himself.
“Do you mind if I ask when you were placed into care?”
“I was six.”
God.
“So you remember her?”
“Celeste,” he warns gently, shaking his head.
He doesn’t want to go there, or he’s not ready. I’m not sure which.
There are still walls up around him. Pieces locked away.
And I get it.
I do.
Some parts of us don’t come out until we’re damn sure they’ll be safe.
That’s when I catch the familiar shadow clouding his eyes. I see it sometimes when he tries to hide it from the world, attempting to mask the hint of darkness I know belongs to him.
I clear my throat. “I’m sorry.”
“I don’t want sympathy.”
I meet his eyes. “I wasn’t offering. I’m sorry that happened. That’s all.”
He’s nothing like the man I once thought he was.
There’s no trace of the cocky, arrogant bastard who pinned me against my own front door and made my knees shake with one look. No slick, dominant edge. No biting sarcasm.
It’s disarming.
