Page 68 of Beneath the Surface

His faith in a woman who never deserved it grew sharp edges that chipped away his childhood piece by piece. “He was never the same after that.”

Alex huffs, the wispies on the back of my neck blowing from his breath.

“We were placed into foster care,” I continue. My insides squeeze tight, hands growing clammy at even thinking the words, let alone speaking them out loud.

“They split you two up?” he asks.

I shake my head. “No, we were kept together, and he... Chase... he was my biggest protector.” My nose burns, throat swelling. “He was my stable ground in a world that always shook beneath my feet.”

“He sounds like a great brother.”

Before I can stop it, my cheeks are wet from the tears trailing down my face. “The best,” I mutter under my breath.

“What was foster care like?”

I lean my head against his chest. “Some places were fine. Others were… not.” The wave of shame surges through my insides, dousing me in blackened memories. “One in particular, he—” My voice gets stuck in my throat, snapshots of a past I’ve trained myself to forget rolling in like fog. I shake my head. “It doesn’t matter.”

Alex’s arms flex on my stomach. “Itdoes.”

I ignore his words. “The last foster parents we had were amazing, though. They actually adopted us.” A soft smile graces my face. “Sam and Anna Adams.”

Alex chuckles. “SamAdams?Like the beer?”

I giggle, a sliver of light creeping through the heavy moment. “Yep. They were everything I always dreamed of having. And after years of being touted around place to place, being treated as a paycheck from the government or a... atoyto be used—” My teeth clench so hard I’m afraid I’ll crack a molar. “It was nice to have the picture-perfect family.”

His fingers skim under the hem of my shirt, and the touch alone is enough to ground me. To keep me in the moment. It’s difficult, but it feels good to be able to talk about this with someone.

“So what happened?”

I shrug, not knowing if I can put it into words. Iwantto say that sometimes broken pieces are ingrained too deep. That no matter how many times you sweep them up, there are fragments left behind. And eventually, those shards become part of you, the thought of digging them out too painful to bear.

“Sam and Anna were amazing. But they were afraid of pushing us away, most of their focus went to Chase becausehewas the problem child. I wasn’t.” My lips lift slightly as I shake my head. “I figured out at a young age that when you pretend like nothing is wrong, people believe you.”

“Act weak when you are strong, and strong when you are weak.”

I twist to face him. “What?”

“It’s a Sun Tzu quote fromThe Art of War.”

My chest pulls as I hum.

Act strong when you are weak.

“Yeah, that was me, I guess. Always weak.” Another tear slides down my face, hot and salty as it hits my lips. My tongue peeks out to wipe the moisture away. “But people believe the face you show them. The more I talked, the less they asked. The more I smiled, the less they cared.”

“That’s sad, little bird.”

“Why do you call me that?” I turn in his arms.

He smiles softly, his hand coming up to run down my cheek. “Birds are social animals. They live in flocks, and flourish in the skies. But when they’re put in captivity, they become lonely. Depressed. Aggressive. Sometimes, they show their trauma by never singing again.”

My chest aches at his words.

“When I first met you,youseemed lonely. Depressed. Aggressive. It made me want to hear you sing.”

My breathing thins.

His thumb presses into my bottom lip. “Birds aren’t meant to be caged.” He leans down and presses a kiss to my lips. “What stole your song, little bird?”

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