“Everything.” She sighed. “Literally.” Her gaze took a trip around the room before it returned to me. “This is the biggest house I’ve ever been in. And this couch”—her eyes widened, as if she just realized where she was sitting—“is the biggest piece of furniture I’ve ever seen.”
“I’m a big guy, Alivia. Small doesn’t work for me.”
“Big and extremely rich. I mean, your house is basically built into the side of a mountain, and you’re overlooking a canyon. I’ve never even been in this area of LA, never mind seen a house that’s anything like this before.” She was staring through the wall of glass that hugged the back side of the living room with a direct view of the Hollywood Hills. “I knew you had money. You own hundreds of restaurants. You have cookbooks, a line of cookware even.” She finally looked at me. “But I guess I just never envisioned what that money looked like outside of work.”
I hadn’t given her a tour of the eight thousand square feet or the car collection in my garage. Or the private jet that was in a hangar not far from here.
Baby fucking steps.
“How are you feeling?” I dipped my hand beneath the fur-like blanket since it was too thick to touch her the way I wanted to, and I rubbed her shower-warmed skin.
She shook her head and shrugged at the same time. “I don’tknow how I feel. Or what I feel.” She paused. “Tired? Yeah, I’m definitely a lot of that.”
“I should have made you go straight home last night. But you cooked that meal, and then”—I smiled at the memory—“I fucking devoured you. You’re running on no sleep.”
“I’m always running on no sleep.”
I hadn’t paid attention to the bags under her eyes. The blue was far too fucking gorgeous to see anything else. But the bags were there, and they were deep.
“Are you like me and you can’t shut off your goddamn brain? Or is it something else?”
Her head fell back against the pillow behind her. “There’s a lot I haven’t told you, Walker.”
“Tell me.”
“I don’t know where to start.” Her voice was as small as her body.
“Just start somewhere.” My hand circled her knee and lowered to her shin; I kept my touch as gentle as I knew how.
“I haven’t told you anything about where I live.” When she lifted her head off the pillow and looked at me, her eyes were haunted. “Which is with my mom and Dean, her husband.”
I immediately noticed how she hadn’t called him her stepdad.
“I’ve been saving for a while,” she continued, “trying to get enough to move out. I set this goal, and”—she shook her head—“I didn’t hit it, but I’m going to get there. That’s why I’m so adamant about having two jobs. I’ll never be able to afford to move with just one. I need both.” Her tongue folded over her top lip, emotion moving into her eyes. “Walker, I have to get out of there.”
“What’s the urgency?” What wasn’t she saying? “Are they kicking you out?”
“Ahhhfuck.”
I massaged her a little harder. “It’s okay. Talk to me.”
“My mom’s an alcoholic. She has been my whole life. Even when we were homeless, living in her car, alcohol came above everything else. There were times when we’d get kicked out of a parking lot where we were staying, and she was so drunk that I’d have to drive.” She scrunched her lips together. “That was before I even had my license.”
And that was why she didn’t drink. Why she had told me in the hotel that as long as I didn’t get drunk, there wouldn’t be a problem.
“Jesus, Alivia,” I hissed. “Can I ask about your dad? And why you never went and lived with him?”
“Robert Holland. She thinks that’s the man who got her pregnant. It was either him or Matt something. She was with both guys around that time. The only reason she leans toward Robert is because she likes that she’s able to say his last name. I think it makes her feel like she did something right in her life.” She took a sip of tea and scrunched up her nose. “Do you know how she knows his last name? She was face down in his back seat, and the car registration stuck to her neck. When she returned home—wherever home was at that time—and woke up the next morning, it was still attached to her skin. She gave it to me as a birthday present when I turned seven. I can’t even believe she’d kept it that long.”
“Fuck me,” I groaned.
“Yeah, I know.” She rubbed her tongue over her teeth, her top lip jutting out as she did. “She’s dated plenty of men. We would move out of the car and into their place until they hated each other, and then we’d end up in the car again. All the guys were different variations of giant assholes. Some pretended I didn’t exist—those were the ones I liked the most. Some made my life a living hell.”
She held her forehead. “Things were never really calm.Whether we were in the car or one of the guys’ places, I lived in the center of a constant explosion. The partying, the fighting, the screaming—it was so fucking much.”
Her hand lowered to her chest. “But it’s the screaming that stands out the most. Even now, it doesn’t just hit my ears, it goes straight through me. It makes me feel like I’m being electrocuted.” She wiped the corner of her eye, but there wasn’t a tear there. “Dean—her husband—he’s the worst of them all. They’ve been married for three years and …” She rolled her eyes before they closed, her head shaking in a way I’d never seen her do.
I didn’t want to ask this question, but I fucking had to. And my heart ached something fierce as I said, “Has he hurt you, Alivia?” I waited. “Has he laid even a finger on you?”
