Page 132 of Rebel Obsession

I smiled at her and then went back to admiring the intricate brushstrokes on her artwork. “Damn. The only thing I was doing when I was seventeen was getting high and trying not to get pregnant.”

I turned around to find everyone staring at me. Sally-Ann seemed especially horrified.

Embarrassment crept up my neck. I hadn’t even thought before I’d opened my mouth. These people might have been my family, but it was clear we were not from the same world.

I ducked my eyes to avoid Sally-Ann’s shock. How different my life would have been if my dad had taken me with him. Would I have found out I had some sort of hidden artistic or musical talent? Would I have ended up in a career that didn’t involve pouring cheap beer or walking around a sex club mostly naked? I loved my job, but these kids weren’t going to turn out like me. They were destined to be artists or doctors or lawyers.

I was only destined to close Psychos at two in the morning with a random guy vomiting in the gutter beside me.

Kay stared at me with big eyes. “Do you want to hear me play the violin?”

She was all of maybe eight years old and cute as hell. I’d never felt motherly toward any child. It wasn’t that I didn’t like them, it was just they were really boring, so I paid no attention.

But I could see me in Kay’s big eyes. I’d been her age, or maybe even younger when my mom had kicked my dad out. I wanted to pull her onto my lap and hug her and tell her she was going to be okay. I wanted it so bad my fingers shook, and I had to dig them into the fabric of my purse to stop them shaking.

Kay didn’t need that hug. She was perfectly safe and healthy and taken care of.

I swallowed thickly. “I’d love that. But could I use the restroom first, please?”

I needed a minute to get myself under control. To remind myself I was just fine the way I was, and growing up any other way wouldn’t have changed anything. There was nothing wrong with me. I wasn’t less than because I didn’t have an education or a family or money.

Except deep in my heart, I knew I didn’t believe that.

“I’ll show her where it is,” Alice announced.

“I’ll get us some more tea while you’re gone.” Sally-Ann stood and motioned to her husband. “Come give me a hand, please.”

It was said in a no-nonsense tone where you just knew she wasn’t really asking for his help. She just wanted a chance to get him into another room alone. Most likely so she could ask him why he’d brought Saint View trailer trash into her pristine home.

“Thank you,” I murmured. “More tea would be lovely.” Though I’d barely sipped from mine.

I followed Alice up the stairs and down a hallway with many doors along both sides. The walls were lined with family photos, but I slowed down as we passed each one, noticing the little thin Post-it notes stuck on most of them. I paused at the third one. “What’s with the Post-it notes?”

I peeled one off, but in the next second it was ripped from my hand.

Alice quickly stuck it back in place. “Don’t touch that.”

I dropped my hand to my side. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

Alice continued down the hallway, her gaze firmly on the floor, the back of her neck flushed.

I didn’t exactly know what I’d done, but I did know I didn’t want to have upset her.

I pointed at the doors we were passing. “Are these all bedrooms?”

Alice nodded. “And bathrooms. That one there is mine.”

“Can I see?”

She hesitated for a second and then opened the door. “Sure. I’m sorry it’s a little messy.”

The room was neat as a pin. Even Kian would have been impressed. The walls were painted a sunny yellow with white trim. There was a single bed with a flowered quilt and a white desk with a neat stack of textbooks on the shelf. It was nothing like the rooms I’d had at her age. Mine had been messy, every surface littered with makeup and clothes and the walls plastered with punk rock band posters.

“This is adorable,” I told her.

She huffed out a sigh. “It’s lame. You can just say it. It’s a baby’s room.”

I didn’t want to blow smoke up her ass, so I didn’t deny it. “At least it’s your own, though, right? Better than sharing.”

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