I felt on the verge of screaming so hard my throat would be raw. As that hurt me more than sexual rejection ever could.
PHOENIX
I had fucked up again. Harper had moved even further out of reach. I only asked her about the book she was reading, and then everything turned into a shitshow.
When the conversation had gotten personal, things started to get interesting, but then she stormed off.
Because you’re still meddling in her life.
So, what? Harper could continue to hold her grudge and refuse to look past my flaws, but she couldn’t hide how she felt.
I relived the moment my hips had rocked forward when I had her pinned against my door, that gasp as she’d felt how hard I was for her. Fuck. Those feelings I’d experienced even through the haze of liquor were exciting, stimulating, and raw.
Our connection as kids had grown and blossomed into something so very different now. Whether that was wrong or right, I didn’t care.
Harper was as weak for me as I was for her, though she attempted to hide it, which was, to be fair,exactlywhat I was doing.
But that wasn’tallshe was attempting to hide. There had always been a cagey element about Harper since she had come to live with us. At first, I had put that down to her being a girl living with four boys, three of them strangers. But it was something else. I had watched her returning from school, clutching her backpack like a life jacket, her expression troubled. Was she being bullied, now that the rest of us were in college? That thought didn’t sit well with me. But surely Molly would have said something to Hudson if that were the case? They attended Harbor Heights together, and even though they were not in the same grade, they’d hang out during break times. So, it must have been something else? A secret she was hiding.
It was ironic, as after reading my file, I had secrets too, and back in the day, I’d sharedsomestuff with Harper.I knew I could be closed off, and I was trying to change that. There was now a part of me that was desperate to tell her what I had learned, but we were going through a rocky patch. Our usual ups and downs were more directed towards the downs. And until that changed, I didn’t feel comfortable. Shit, I hadn’t even gottenmyhead around it yet.
Plus, I wanted to shield Harper from having to deal with any more complex situations. She didn’t deserve any more stress.
I stuck to my initial decision that once I had dealt with my shit, I would make things right with her.
After hearing Ma go back into the kitchen, I turned off the music and went to my room, my thoughts switching to my birth mother.
I sat on my bed and opened my foster file, my eyes scanning over the notes I’d taken from the net. Luna Rose Leibrock was married to Matthew Roy Leibrock and was the mother of Alex Royce Leibrock.
The Termination of Parental Rights paper in the file stated that child neglect and abandonment were the main reasons for my being taken into care. There were also some notes taken during several chaperoned visits that my mother made to the care center. Substance abuse was also written into the pages.
As I read through the pack, it was noted that my mother appeared to clean up her act. After the sixth visit, she began to miss appointments and then stopped coming altogether. Did I remember those visits, vaguely?
I knew I had to see her, not to build up a relationship or anything pathetic like that, but to ask herwhyshe abandoned me.
My relationship with my birth mother was unfinished business in my mind, as was the question of who had fathered me. I rechecked the file, but social services didn’t have any details, and there was nothing noted on the register of entry document attached to my birth certificate. It was like I never had a dad.
I decided to push thoughts of my father out of my mind and deal with things in order.
When I was originally placed into care, I had been fostered by a young couple who couldn’t have children of their own. Or thought they couldn’t at the time. They were called Adam and Lydia Fox, and I had lived with them in a stable, comfortable home for around four years. I remember those times as the best of my childhood. We had lived in a small house in Tiverton. I remember walks in the park and visits to the Sakonnet River. Adam taught me how to swim and play soccer, and we would watch football on TV. I was less close to Lydia; she was a quiet woman, and looking back, she possibly suffered from mental health issues.But my relationship with the guy who was my father figure was good. He was the one who got me interested in the NFL.
Then one day, I was told they were having a baby, and things changed. I became a hindrance overnight. At least it felt that way at the time.
I remember the pregnancy was seen as a miracle, and from that point on,everythingwas about the baby.
Over the next two years, I felt pushed out. Almost invisible. So, I had acted up, played the part of the unruly brat. Did I blame myself for my behavior at the time? Not really. I was a confused, eleven-year-old boy. I used to have everything, and then one day it was ripped away. I didn’t understand and had blamed their baby for coming along and spoiling things. Tears were shed, compromises were attempted, but I was still transferred back into the system. I didn’t understand why at the time. I remember those feelings of grief I had experienced, even though no one died.
Flicking back through the file, my gut twisted when I read part of a report that mentioned Lydia Fox being worried that I posed a threat to their child, Maya. This came after an incident where I had almost dropped the baby. I remembered it well; it had been an accident. I wouldneverhave intentionally hurt a kid, even one I had secretly despised. Sounds bad, I know, but I was jealous and screwed up.
Once I was back in the system, I was passed around like an unwanted parcel, and yes, I fought against that too. I was probably the biggest pain in the ass the foster care system had ever seen, although Hudson gave them a run for their money from what I’d heard.
Worthlessness and anger had continued to build inside of me. I hated everyone and everything. I was damaged goods with no future.
Then, finally, I ended up with Mr. and Mrs. Jackson. They were experienced foster carers and had provided temporary shelter for kids with all types of backgrounds. Ones that had served time in Juvie, to children with personalitydisorders, and those with tragic backgrounds, like Harper’s. They already had two other fosters who had been with them for around six months, the twins, Dalton and Daisy.
It was a safe, comfortable place to live, but it wasn’t a loving home. Mr. and Mrs. Jackson were fair but cold as people, and life there was extremely regimented. I suppose they had to be strict when they were dealing with all sorts of explosive personalities. It didn’t make it a pleasant environment to live in, though.
When Harper had arrived, that no longer mattered. I remember seeing her that first day, her bright chestnut hair and those large blue eyes. She was tiny and such a scrawny little thing, but I had liked her.
