Bad Intentions (Bad Love #2)(48)

“You were trying to take care of your family. There’s no fucking shame in that. I wish I had someone who cared about me half as much as you care about your brother.”

“Tell me about you?” I ask, hoping he doesn’t deny me after spilling all that stuff about myself.

“Quid pro quo, huh?” He’s on his side facing me now. His voice is so nonchalant, but I can tell he feels anything but. “I never knew my parents. I was left in a parking lot when I was four, along with a note with my first name and birthday. No last name. I guess I was found at the store on Adair Street, so that’s where my last name comes from.”

My eyes widen at his words. He mentioned being in foster care, but I didn’t know the details. I feel stupid for being so wrapped up in my own stupid problems that pale in comparison.

“I wasn’t where I should’ve been, developmentally speaking. I was small. Malnourished. I barely spoke. I didn’t even know my last name,” he says, giving a bitter laugh. “What four-year-old doesn’t know their own name? I had behavioral issues, too. No one wanted that. They wanted to adopt adorable bouncing babies with big gummy smiles. When I got older, I was mad at the world, jumping from foster family to foster family, never staying anywhere for more than a few months, and the ones who did keep me were usually abusive pieces of shit who just wanted a paycheck.”

“That’s awful.” My tears are for a completely different reason now. My heart physically hurts thinking of little Stefan, all alone in a parking lot. We might have been dirt-poor, but at least Jess and I always had each other growing up. That was one thing we could always count on.

On the day Dare and I met, he told me he’d wet the bed until he was twelve. I’d laughed, thinking it was just embarrassing kid stuff. Now, I feel like a pile of shit because it was so much more than that. “You never had one family that was good to you?”

A darkness flashes across his features. “I did, for a while…” He trails off, seemingly lost in a memory before clearing his throat. “But it didn’t work out.”

I reach out to trace the pine tree silhouettes on his forearm. I don’t know why, I just feel the need to touch him in this moment. Dare tenses, but he doesn’t pull away. I feel something rough and bumpy under the ink, and when I look closer, I see the skin is slightly raised there.

“What happened here?”

“Double compound fracture. Two plates. Ten screws.”

“Jesus, what were you doing?” I run my fingers along the line that runs from the top of his forearm down to his wrist.

“Fell on the ice.”

“It looks like a centipede,” I remark. When I look up, Dare’s staring at me intently. I notice the faint freckles on his nose for the first time. They make him look innocent and boyish—two words no one would ever use to describe him, I’m sure.

“What?” I ask, pulling back.

“Can I…try something?”

“If it’s anal, the answer is no. I’m too tired,” I say, trying to bring some levity to the conversation.

“Not tha—wait, you’d let me if you weren’t too tired?” he asks, raising a brow. A half-smile tugs at his lips, and I feel victorious for putting it there.

“I’m joking,” I say, slapping his arm. “What were you going to say?”

“This.” The brief, playful demeanor is gone, and in its place is something almost vulnerable. I don’t know where he’s going with this until he nudges me over and settles in behind me, curling his arm around my waist, his nose in my hair.

“Cuddling? You want to try cuddling?” I ask, incredulous.

“I’ve never done it,” he admits.

Something shifts in this moment, and I realize Dare and I might be more alike than I thought.

“Me neither,” I whisper. He squeezes tighter and cups my breast.

“Just for a little while.”




A repetitive dripping sound pulls me from consciousness. It’s still dark, and Dare is molded to me, arms wrapped around me like a boa constrictor, his knee between both of mine. The rhythmic breathing on my neck tells me he’s asleep. Careful not to wake him, I peel myself away from him, following the sound toward the window.

Tiptoeing across the hardwood, I slide open one side of the black curtains and I almost squeal, my hand flying to my mouth to muffle the sound. Everything is covered in a blanket of white, illuminated by the bright moon peeking through the snow-covered trees.

I move silently through Dare’s room and down the stairs, shoving my feet into my boots before plucking Dare’s hoodie off the back of one of the barstools at his counter. I leave the door cracked behind me and walk out into the field of snow. Dare lives in the middle of nowhere, his closest neighbor probably a mile away, so it’s nothing but snow and trees as far as the eye can see. The peacefulness of it all is almost enough to make me emotional, still feeling raw—a lingering effect from our conversation before we fell asleep. I tilt my head back, letting fluffy, oversized snowflakes hit my cheeks.

Arms lock around my waist from behind, and I jump before I hear Dare’s sleepy voice in my ear. “What the hell are you doing, Sally?” His taunting nickname now feels almost…endearing. I don’t hate it.

“You live in Narnia,” I say quietly, leaning into him.