Page 42 of My Three Rivals

“Your parents weren’t around much, either?” she asked, scrunching her face. I paled and shoveled another bite into my mouth. “Sorry. I’m not trying to pry. It just seems to be a recurring theme, doesn’t it?”

She glanced at Maverick, who shrugged non-committally, and resumed his meal.

“Atticus’ parents were around,” I blurted out and instantly regretted it.

Atticus’ amber-gold eyes glittered in the flicker of the candlelight, his jaw tightening. I reached for my beer, about to apologize for bringing it up out of turn, but Atticus finished the sordid story I shouldn’t have brought up in the first place.

“They were until my father took his own life, and my mother went batshit crazy afterward.” He stared defiantly at Tegan, waiting for her to show shock, but she only shook her head.

“I read about that,” she admitted, stunning Atticus. “I wasn’t sure it was your family, but the picture I found online… it looked like you.”

“The goddamn internet,” Atticus muttered as I tensed.

I waited for her to look at me and tell me that she knew all about my history, too.

“We all have skeletons in our closet, Atticus,” Tegan told him firmly. “Your families are awful, the way your dad got swindled, but none of that is your fault.”

Atticus’ hardened exterior crumpled before my eyes, his shoulders sagging as Maverick nodded in agreement.

“We’ve talked about this,” Maverick said, sitting back to drop his linen napkin on the table. “But it’s complicated, trying to outrun the ghosts of our past.”

“Tell me about it,” Tegan muttered, also sitting back. “I’ve been living in the shadow of the Pickett curse my whole life—and no one even gets it right. Everyone thinks I’m some poor little rich girl, but they have no clue how hard I struggled to keep our lives together after my mom died.”

“People only see what they want to see,” I intoned darkly.

She cast me a sideways look. “Are either of your parents still alive?”

“Wyatt doesn’t like to talk about it,” Maverick jumped in protectively.

“Sorry,” Tegan apologized, holding up her hands to show she wasn’t going to push, but to my utter shock, I answered her with brutal honesty.

“My mother was a prostitute.”

Dead silence fell over the table, my partners giving me a reprimanding look as Tegan’s eyes widened.

An awkward silence blanketed us until Tegan gulped and filled it with absolution. “Well, I’m sure that wasn’t easy for you as her kid, but a woman’s got to do what she’s got to do. There’s really no shame in sex work when consenting adults are involved.”

“She was pimped and really had no interest in leaving the business, not when her pimp was constantly feeding her supply of drugs.”

Tegan’s full mouth remained agape as she looked at my friends, sorrow and shame coloring her beautiful face.

“I’m sorry, Wyatt. I didn’t know.”

“How could you?” I chuckled mirthlessly. “I’m pretty well adjusted, considering—”

“Okay.” Maverick cut me off, and I realized what I’d been about to say, blood draining from my cheeks.

I glanced furtively at Tegan, who was hanging off my every word.

“What do we have for dessert?” Atticus added, standing.

I sucked back the remainder of my beer, my pulse racing.

Oh, my God. I almost told her about Ricky and what I did to him.

“I’ll find something,” Tegan volunteered, rising from the table to clear off the dishes. “I think there’s fruit and whipped cream. I’ll pull something together.”

“Sounds great,” Atticus agreed.

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