I swallow, my throat dry. I can’t even say I grew up here. I survived here.
Beau studies me, waiting for my reaction. “You want to get out?”
I huff out a laugh. “Why the hell are we here, man?”
And I knew. As soon as we hopped off the plane, I knew this was where he’d take me.
“Because you need to be here.”
I want to refuse. I want to tell him to take me anywhere else. But a part of me knows that if he dragged me here, there’s a damn good reason for it. Maybe I’m so screwed up he had to bring me here.
When we get out of the truck, he points at the duplex. The one where we met. It was my third foster home. The paint is peeling off the house in sheets, the window AC half hanging out the window.
“Home sweet home,” he says.
“Did you bring me here to depress me further or something?” My boot kicks at the broken pavement.
“I brought you here as a reminder. Look at this place. Really look at it.”
And the funny thing is, this is probably the happiest house I was ever in. Because this is where Beau and I crossed paths. Two foster kids. It was only a year before we were split up. Our foster mom said we were too much trouble, that we weren’t listening to her rules. And when we were wrestling and broke a cat figurine, that was the end of that.
“You’re not that kid anymore,” Beau says softly.
My head snaps toward him. “What?”
“You heard me. You keep living like you’re clawing your way out of this dump. Like if you don’t grind yourself down, you’ll end up back here. But look around, man. You made it out. We both did.”
I let out a sharp laugh, shaking my head. “Made it out? Yeah, sure. I’m living in hotel rooms and chasing deadlines.”
“Bullshit,” Beau fires back. “You’ve got more money than you know what to do with. You’ve got talent most people would sell their souls for. And you’ve got a woman who actually gives a damn about you.”
I roll my eyes. I don’t know why I roll my eyes. It’s the truth. Romy gives a damn about me. The note she left on the nightstand after she took her suitcase and left Chicago still burns a hole in my back pocket.
I’ll never keep you from him. No matter what happens with us, you are his father, and he is your son.
I never told Beau, but that last night in the hotel room, I finally broke down, realizing that I’m the one destroying it this time. It’s not some foster dad who can’t handle his anger or alcohol. It’s not a neglectful foster mom who uses the money meant for us to get her nails done. It’s not even the caseworker’s fault. This time, it’s nobody’s fault but mine.
“Romy’s different,” he says. “And you know it.”
God, just the mention of her name stabs me in the heart. “That doesn’t mean she’s meant for this life.”
Beau snorts. “You need to stop acting like a coward. Jesus. You love her. She loves you.”
I glance at the duplex again. “You just… you don’t get it.”
“I do.” When I try to respond, Beau cuts me off. “More than anyone. We grew up in the same damn system, remember? I get it. Foster kid rule number one: don’t let anyone in. Because the second you do, they’re gone. Whoosh. Disappeared from your life. But that rule doesn’t work anymore. You’re not that boy waiting for a caseworker to show up and free you from a shitty situation. You’re a man. You can walk out whenever you want. And Romy isn’t going anywhere—unless you push her out.”
I press my palms against my jeans, trying to ground myself, but the memories creep in, nonetheless. The cold nights huddled under thin blankets. Pretending not to be scared when her boyfriend grabbed us by the shirts and pushed us up against a wall. Trying to act as though we were too cool to care. The ache of wanting someone, anyone, to claim us as theirs.
I blink against the burn in my eyes. “You make it sound easy.” My voice is as rough as the gravel driveway in front of me.
Since when did he become this well-adjusted? Why isn’t he as fucked up in the head as I am?
“It’s not easy,” Beau says. “But you don’t have to keep pushing yourself. You worked your ass off to escape this. You don’t need to prove you can do it anymore. You deserve the life you built for yourself.”
My throat closes.
“Listen, I’m not saying it’s perfect—your lifestyle. Hell, it’s a circus. Cameras, travel, fans. But you’ve got choices now. And you don’t have to keep bleeding yourself dry like it’s the only way to survive. You survived. And you’re allowed to want more.”
