Wicked Need (The Wicked Horse Series Book 3)(34)
“What about me?” I ask hesitantly, although I know deep in my gut what he’s inquiring about.
“Your family. What’s your story?”
My gaze slides back out to the desert as we fly down the interstate. I’ve never felt a special affinity to Nevada, even though I was born and raised here. Right now, the shades of brown from the hard-packed dirt to the creosote brush feels a lot like my life. Dull, cruddy, and depressing.
I contrast those colors to the palette of Rand’s life and where he lives. Vivid greens, cool blues, and sparkling whites.
“I have no clue about my father,” I say as I bring my hands to my lap where I twirl my fingers together. “My mom wouldn’t tell me anything about him other than he was an *. She didn’t even put his name on the birth certificate.”
“What?” Rand says in astonishment. “She didn’t think you’d have the right to judge that yourself?”
“Guess not,” I say glumly. I never knew what to think of the man who gave his sperm to my mom.
“Do you believe her?” he asks. It surprises me he would question my mother’s character without knowing anything about her. But I suspect Rand is making some preconceived judgments based on what little he knows about me, and let’s face it… he wouldn’t be wrong to question her motives. I question them all the time.
“Probably not,” I admit softly, still staring at my hands. “My mother wasn’t a very motherly figure. It’s hard to trust what she says.”
“More,” Rand orders, not in an autocrat type of way, but rather in a way that says he’s not going to let me chintz on the gory details of my life. He’s demanding to know my demons, because as he said, how can he slay them if he doesn’t know what they are? “I promise I won’t judge.”
My head snaps up and swings to stare at him with my mouth slightly open. “I know you’d never judge me,” I say vehemently. Not once in the entire time I’ve known Rand—whether it was while he was watching me get f*cked by other men or while he was absorbing the wretched details of my relationship with Samuel—has he ever looked upon me with anything other than intrigue, lust, curiosity, respect, and most recently, with care.
“Then lay it on me,” he urges softly as he takes a moment to turn his attention from the road to give me an encouraging smile.
I take a deep breath, pull my bare feet up from the floorboard, and put them on the dash again. I notice briefly it’s time for a pedicure as the polish is starting to chip, then just as quickly remember I can’t afford those anymore. I actually pull my skirt to my knees and hold the edges there with my hands.
“I’ll give you a classic example of my childhood,” I say after exhaling. “One night, I woke up really hungry—I was eight, I think. I was hungry because Mom sent me to bed without dinner. She said it was because I was a pain in her ass, but I think it was because she hadn’t bothered to go grocery shopping. But I knew there was probably something I could get out of the cupboards, so I got out of bed and made my way down the narrow hall of our little desert trailer to the kitchen. The kitchen actually stood between the hallway and the living room, and I saw my mom in there with a guy—just some random dude, which was par for the course. They were sitting on the couch, smoking a joint together. There was a pizza on the coffee table. Mostly eaten, but there were two slices left. She saw me and asked what I wanted. I told her I was hungry and asked for some of the pizza. She told me tough shit and to get back to bed. She said it was hers, and she’d need it for the munchies that were sure to come on after they finished smoking their joint. Then they both started laughing hysterically.”
“Unbelievable,” Rand growls from low in his throat.
“My mother is irresponsible and selfish. She had absolutely no business having a kid. She didn’t even care when I left home at seventeen. I know this because I came back after a few days to get more of my stuff and she was there. Didn’t even ask where I’d been. Only wanted to know if I had any money, because I’d been working since I was fifteen, to make sure I at least had food.”
“Was she on hard drugs or something?” Rand asks in wonder, because that would be a good explanation for her lack of care.
“Nope. I mean, yeah, she smoked some pot every once in a while, but she held a steady job. Worked as a secretary at an auto body shop. She had friends. She’d see a lot of different men, but she didn’t really parade them in front of me. I think she was embarrassed she had a kid.”
“What a f*cking bitch,” Rand mutters.
“It’s funny,” I say in reflection. “I left home when I was seventeen, didn’t finish high school, and ended up on the streets for a bit. And still… it was better than what I had. I never had someone care for me before, and that didn’t change whether I was in her house or sleeping on some strange dude’s couch in exchange for a blow job. The difference is that when I was with her, I still always expected she’d care a little. As much as she let me down, over and over again, I always still expected it of her. And that means I was repetitively hurt when I didn’t get it. At least on the streets, I had no expectations that anyone could smash.”
Rand’s hand comes out, and he takes mine. He pulls it across the cab, making me lean a little toward him, and gives a soft kiss to the inside of my wrist. “Your mom sounds like a vile person. I’m thinking one of the best things you ever did was leaving when you were young. You’re in a much better place now that you’re rid of her.”