Page 97 of Devious Corruption
“Everyone likes brownies. They liked them.” I defend myself. “There’s nothing wrong with showing some appreciation. You might want to try it sometime.”
“You made them because you think you have to work to be allowed space here.” He brushes his fingertips across my jaw. “You don’t. You just need to be you.”
I pull away. Discomfort replaces the lightness, and I take a step back.
“I’m not doing that. It’s just…well, it’s better to be helpful than a burden.”
He folds his arms over his chest and cocks his head. “And who told you that?”
I stammer a moment; sure he’s going to take things the wrong way. “My foster mother.”
“The same foster mother who raised the twins all those years? She did a bang-up job.”
“She tried with them, Lev. She did, but they were always going to do whatever they wanted. I was different. I was stronger, more focused.”
“Ah, so that made you the more responsible one? The one who was in charge of keeping them in line? Keeping them out of trouble? And while you’re doing that, also make yourself useful so that woman wouldn’t want to get rid of you?”
My throat constricts.
“I told you, there’s very little I can’t get informationon. You went through several foster homes before landing at the last one.”
“Some foster parents want short term placements. That’s all. It wasn’t anything I did.” How many times did the social workers lay out that carpet of crap?
“And since they thought your mother was going to regain custody at some point, they agreed to take you on, but then?—”
“Then she’d disappear again. I know my history, Lev. I don’t need you to tell me.” He shouldn’t know these things about me. About how easy it was to turn me away, to give me up, over and over again.
“After my mom died, a permanent placement was requested. That’s when I was placed with Mrs. Ingles. She knew it wasn’t temporary. She kept me.”
“Because you did everything you could to make sure you were useful. Someone she could depend on. Not someone she needed to take care of. Someone who would stay out of her way.”
“I don’t want to talk about this. She wasn’t perfect, but she gave us a home. She never hurt us, never did anything…” I stop talking, unsure of what to say next to make him understand.
Why can’t he understand?
Because he’s always had a family surrounding him. He’s had Nicolette his whole life and his men and his friends.
He can’t possibly understand what it’s like not having anyone in your corner. Waking up and being told there’sno more room at the house, and you’re going to be moved to a new place. Having your things packed up while you’re at school and coming home to find yet another social worker sitting waiting for you to take you to a new home. A new family.
But neveryourfamily.
“Max.” He grabs my chin again, squeezing it tightly to get my attention.
His eyes are hard.
“You don’t have to earn your place here. This is your place. With me. Here,” he says.
“Right,” I say. “I know.”
He shakes his head. “No. You don’t. This is your home.”
“Yeah. For now. I understand that. There’s nothing wrong with being a helpful guest.”
“Is that what you think you are? A guest?”
“Aren’t I? I mean, once the boys come home and we get everything figured out, I’ll go back to my place, and you’ll go back to breaking thumbs and burying bodies.” I try to smile to soften the mood.
It’s getting too heavy in here.
